


Mystery

by Dusk Peterson (duskpeterson)



Series: The Three Lands [21]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Clergy, Courage, Crime, Ethical Issues, Fantasy, Food Issues, Friendship, Gen, Homophobia, Male Friendship, Mentors, Original Fiction, Priests, Self-Discipline, Students, Theology, abuse issues, celibate, criminals, don't need to read other stories in the series, gen - Freeform, judgmentalism, older character(s), original gen, polytarian monotheism, spirituality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:29:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26823691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duskpeterson/pseuds/Dusk%20Peterson
Summary: "Watching the hand fondle the sword-flat, with the blade's killing edge turned toward him, Prosper found himself doing battle with no less than three demon-fears."Three days ago he faced death by fire. Now he faces a bigger challenge.Made a priest at age thirteen and then elevated to the high rank of City Priest when he was twenty, Prosper has long held a position of tremendous power. But a terrible misstep causes him to break the God's Law which governs the Northern Peninsula. Now he is in exile from the God's Law: any man who meets Prosper is free to murder him.A friend has sent Prosper to a protector . . . but can that protector shield Prosper, not only from potential killers, but from the consequences of the exiled priest's unacknowledged demons?Boilerplate warning for all my stories + my rating system.
Relationships: Original Male Character & Original Male Character
Series: The Three Lands [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/15107
Kudos: 1
Collections: A Whisper to the  Dark Side, Chains: The Powerfic Archive, Just Friends, Platonic Relationships





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _**Author's note:** This is a side story in the Three Lands series. You don't need to read the other stories in the series to understand this one._

To Huard, priest of the tribe of the Feasters, under the care of the City Priest, under the care of the High Priest of the Northern Peninsula: 

This letter is borne to you by Prosper, who until a few hours ago held the honored position of City Priest. He has now been stripped by the High Priest of his title and of his priesthood and has been placed under the God's curse. The sentence given to him was exile from the Capital Territory and from the God's presence for one year's time. 

I know that you will be concerned that I have sent you a demon-filled man. Like all men who have given themselves over to the power of those spirits who are enemies of the Unknowable God, he is filled with impulses toward destruction. For that reason, I will explain what destructive acts led to Prosper being placed under the God's curse, and why I believe that you may be able to help him. 

Prosper entered into the service of the God at age thirteen, three years before he would normally have been permitted to take his vows of priesthood, because his father was a friend of the High Priest. He took his vows under the instruction of the High Priest himself, who then appointed Prosper to the title of City Priest when Prosper was twenty years old. Many people are said to have commented at the time how unusual it was that the High Priest would appoint a man still in his youth to so high a position. 

I recite these facts, which you know as well as I do, in order to emphasize that, from the beginning of his adolescence, Prosper was supervised only by the High Priest, whose duties require that he spend the majority of his time in prayer to the God. For his first two years as City Priest, Prosper lived in the same house as the High Priest, but thereafter Prosper founded a training school for boys entering into priesthood, half a day's ride from the High Priest's dwelling, and from that time forward Prosper received no spiritual supervision at all except for his quarterly confessions to the High Priest. 

You were one of the earliest boys to serve as a pupil at the City Priest's training school, so you know better than I what Prosper was like in those days. My own training was completed only twelve years ago, and by that time Prosper had acquired the reputation among the priest-pupils he trained of being a hard and exacting master – not necessarily a fault, we can both agree, but one which brings certain dangers that may open a person to demons. 

Prosper himself was the first to realize that he had begun to turn his face from the God, but by the time he realized this, the demons seemingly had already laid hold of his spirit, for rather than turn for assistance to the High Priest, as he ought to have done, he instead made his confession to me. 

I had offered my priestly vows only four months before. Being young and inexperienced, it did not occur to me to question why Prosper had sought one of his former priest-pupils as his confessor rather than the High Priest. I believed Prosper when he told me that he considered the matter too serious to await his quarterly confession. 

I may tell you what he told me at that time, for I have been released from my lock of confession. He said that he believed that he had been too harsh and hasty in his judgments of those under his care, and in particular of those who were brought to his judgment in the God's court. 

This being a serious matter, I placed Prosper under a discipline combining prayer, silence, and a set of instructions for behavior, the most pertinent instruction being that I required Prosper to delay three days after anyone was charged with breaking the God's Law, before passing sentence upon the prisoner. 

Two years later, Prosper removed me from my duties as a tutor at his training house and made me sanctuarian at the nearby government house. I did not question at the time his motives for doing so, but the effect of this change of duties was that I could no longer directly supervise Prosper to see whether he was adhering to the discipline under which I had placed him. The only discipline, indeed, that I could now check was whether he waited three days between charges and sentences in the God's court. 

He maintained this discipline for eight years. Then he sentenced a man to burning for atheism two-and-a-half days after the charge was placed against him. Prosper promptly came to me and told me that he had broken the discipline. For that reason, I renewed the discipline but warned him that, if he violated his discipline again, I would have no choice but to place him under the God's curse. 

I took the opportunity of our conversation to ask whether he had been maintaining the remainder of the discipline I had placed him under. His answers did not fully satisfy me, so I began questioning the priest-pupils under his care at that time. I learned from them that the situation had worsened since my own time at the training school. Alarmed, I told Prosper that I wished to meet with him weekly thereafter, but he informed me that the High Priest was watching him closely on this matter. Since Prosper was officially under the care of the High Priest rather than myself, I could take no further steps to assist him. 

Last night, my worst fears were realized when Prosper placed a charge against a man and then sought to make immediate sentence upon him. (The man has since been found innocent of his charge, so I will not name him here.) I was brought into the matter as a witness, since I was the man's confessor. Hoping to find evidence against the man, Prosper lifted the lock of confession upon me, requiring me to give witness as to whether any person who had made confession to me was believed by me to have broken the God's Law recently. I immediately appealed this lifting of the lock to the High Priest, who was visiting the training school at the time. The High Priest, however, upheld Prosper's lifting. I was therefore forced to charge Prosper with having broken his discipline and thereby the God's Law. 

Prosper's reaction was consternation, followed by an attempt to make light of the matter, followed by anger. At last, I am glad to report, he came to realize the truth of the charge made against him and to acknowledge that he had placed himself under the God's curse. For this reason, I recommended that Prosper be sentenced to exile rather than burning. It is my hope that he may thereby drive away the demons within him rather than undergo purification through fire. 

I should add that Prosper has expressed the desire that, if he is unable to release himself from the demons' hold, he be burned at the end of the year of exile. In that way, whether or not purification of his spirit is thereby accomplished, he may at least spare those around him from the evils that his demon-filled spirit would cause. 

I am sure that what I have told you does nothing to lessen your anxiety about having Prosper sent to your tribe. Indeed, I would be a dishonest witness if I did not add that, in all my years as a confessor, Prosper's is the worst case I have encountered. I have served as confessor to murderers, rapists, atheists, oath-breakers, and other demon-filled people, and though many sought to justify what they did, all were at least aware that they had broken the God's Law. By contrast, until last night, Prosper was convinced that he was one of the most God-loving men in the northern peninsula. He has yet to fully name the demons that have bound him: vainglory, arrogance, self-focus, greed, envy, cowardice, and above all, his native demon of judgment which makes it impossible for him to face the full magnitude of the cruel deeds that he has carried out. 

By the time you read this letter, matters may have shifted somewhat, for Prosper is still stunned by what he has lost. Only gradually will he come to understand that the curse was not placed upon him by the High Priest last night; rather, he cursed himself many years ago, when he allowed the demons to do their evil work through him. 

For a man such as Prosper, who has held the second-ranked title in the spiritual realm of the northern peninsula, such a realization is all too likely to lead him to despair and perhaps even to the crime of self-slaying, unless he is given reason to hope for the future. 

And that is why I have sent him to you. It seems best to me that he should be cared for by someone who knew him when he was young, and I believe that returning to his native tribe may help him to recover the godly qualities he held as a child – for I do not believe that the High Priest would have named Prosper as City Priest if Prosper had not been a young man gifted with a love of the God. 

Obviously, since Prosper has been exiled from the territory that is under my care, I cannot take official notice of where he goes or with whom he has contact during his year in exile, so please do not mistake this letter as a command. It is a request only, based on the debt that you and I, and every priest who passed through the City Priest's training school, owe to Prosper. 

I have arranged to have Prosper sent back to your territory by escort; since he bears the mark of the God-cursed, the danger to his life during these first days of exile remains acute. You know better than I do whether your tribe's chieftain is likely to welcome Prosper into his territory. I can only hope that, if the chieftain is inclined to drive him out of the territory, you will intervene on Prosper's behalf. It is always sorrowful when a God-cursed man dies unpurified, and especially so when that man has been a priest. 

I am grateful for the time you have taken to read this letter. I hope that all lies well with you and your tribe. 

In the names of the unnameable God, 

Martin  
Formerly Sanctuarian of the government house in the Capital Territory, under the care of the City Priest; now City Priest, under the care of the High Priest 

o—o—o

The chieftain lifted his gaze from the scroll he had been reading. He was a short man, slight in build, which made the many battle scars upon his body all the more remarkable. He paused a moment to look around at the men and youths gathered in a cluster to stare at the man who had walked into their camp that afternoon. 

"This man," said the chieftain, raising his voice to be heard even by the women and younger children listening from a safe distance, "was a play-companion to my father. My father often told me stories of their days together." 

Prosper, covered with dust from the travel and sweating under the early spring sun, felt his body sag with relief. He had remembered clearly the previous chieftain, but he had not known whether the chieftain's son, who had never met him, would acknowledge his link to the tribe. Prosper had once been so eager to rid himself of tribal ties that he had left his home without his father's permission. Now those ties seemed all-important; they were the only protection left to him. 

Having been recognized by his tribe, Prosper felt a smile begin to form upon his lips. Behind him, he could hear the sound of water slapping against the crude bridge he had crossed a short while before. The water seemed like a protective wall, defending him from the danger that lay outside. 

The chieftain glanced down at the scroll again. When he raised his eyes, they were cold. "My father never liked him, and he never trusted him," he said in the same clear voice. "I am not at all surprised that the High Priest has placed him under the God's curse." 

Prosper felt the words like a blow. He sensed at once the change in mood in the surrounding men and youths: the shifting of spear from left hand to right, the movement of hand to hilt, the tensing of muscles in preparation. 

The rush of swiftly moving water continued. The border was only a few spear throws behind him. On the point of being seized by the demon once more, Prosper reminded himself that fleeing was the worst possible action he could take. He was thirty years older than the chieftain and many of his men; he could not hope to outrace them. Nor did safety lie on the other side of the border. The tribe there had seen his curse-mark as he rode past their camp. 

When that had happened, he had been surrounded by soldiers who were under orders to protect him. But those soldiers had departed, ridding themselves of him as quickly as their orders permitted. Now he was amongst different soldiers, who might be given different orders. 

Prosper felt sweat trickle down his chest, under the temporal man's tunic that still seemed so unfamiliar to him. He remembered in time that prayer would avail him little. He tried to still his mind into silence, but failed. 

The chieftain, still cold in gaze, addressed Prosper directly for the first time. "Remain here," he instructed tersely, then turned and disappeared into the crowd of men behind him. 

Several of the men and youths turned their heads to watch their chieftain leave, but otherwise the crowd did not move. A blue-eyed boy, still young enough to be among the children, peered out at him from behind a stone pillar; a gangling youth, seemingly just past his coming-of-age rite at sixteen, stared with unshielded horror at Prosper; a senior warrior, nearly as old as Prosper himself, checked in a matter-of-course manner to see that his spear-head was properly bound for battle; and a honey-colored man, with the dark eyes sometimes found in Prosper's native tribe, drew his sword and stroked it lovingly, like a priest caressing a quill before beginning the hard work of copying a manuscript. 

Watching the hand fondle the sword-flat, with the blade's killing edge turned toward him, Prosper found himself doing battle with no less than three demon-fears. 

The first demon had appeared to him three days before, at the moment when he realized, like a pupil having overslept his lesson, that he had committed the grave crime of breaking the discipline placed upon him by his confessor – not for the first time, but for the second. This demon was bewilderment; after three days of searching the depths of his spirit, Prosper still could not imagine how he had made so simple an error, like a boy neglecting a vowel change in his study of the God's Language. 

The second demon had appeared at the moment of the cursing, when Prosper had grasped for the first time – as he had not fully grasped even when the robe of his priesthood was stripped from him – that he was now exiled from the God's presence. Exiled, and marked forever as one of the God's enemies. Even when he was returned to the priesthood – for Martin would surely permit this after Prosper's year of exile – the mark of his cursing would always remain on his forehead, a sign to all who met him that he had undergone this period of shame. Shame was not a demon, but despair was, and he had felt despair touch him lightly, like a feather. 

And now the worst demon arose, which had begun to show itself during the past day, but which Prosper had been able to thrust away until now. He had never truly believed that it would happen, though he himself had sent scores of men into exile and therefore knew how many had died during the first few weeks after their cursing. To die by fire – yes, Prosper had prepared himself to accept such a death, should it become necessary. But to die unpurified, to remain forever exiled from the God's presence . . . The demon of fear was tugging at him now, urging him to run from the beweaponed men before him. 

Whether Prosper would have heeded the demon's temptation he never knew, for at that moment the crowd parted, and a portly older man strode up to Prosper and enfolded him in his plump embrace. 

"Prosper!" he cried, his voice ringing out over the camp. The crowd shifted again as the tribal folk exchanged looks. 

"Huard." His voice unsteady, Prosper sought to free himself from the priest's embrace. "I am under the God's curse—" 

"Yes, I know," said the priest with matter-of-fact cheerfulness, as though they were discussing which meat to serve at a quarter-day. "I am saddened that our meeting should come on such an occasion, but by the God! it is good to see you again after all these years. Come; you must be tired from your journey." 

Prosper hesitated, looking over at the chieftain, who had been contemplating the reunion with a sour expression. The chieftain spat on the ground and said, "You are welcome in this territory," in a voice that held no welcome. Then the chieftain turned away to join the other men, who were now in murmured conversation with each other. 

Prosper had no opportunity to learn what they were saying, for Huard had taken him by the arm and was pulling him as rapidly away as any priest could hope to move in his ground-length robe. "Just over this way," said the priest. "I have a hut of my own here – had you heard?" 

Prosper had not. His last meeting with Huard had been when the priest completed his training at Prosper's newly opened training school, thirty years before. Nor had Prosper maintained any ties with his native tribe; looking about, he saw that much had changed in the camp since he had last been there. In his boyhood, Prosper had lived in the long hall that served as living quarters for all of the families of the tribe. Now the camp was dotted with dozens of separate living quarters, in addition to a newer long hall that lay at the edge of the camp, next to the rapidly running river where Huard's predecessor had once warned the tribal boys not to swim, lest they be drowned by the rapid current. 

Near the river was an unmistakable windowless hall. The door of this hut was painted with a black mask; Prosper found himself dragging back upon Huard's grip. The priest did not take him into the sanctuary, however. Instead he pulled Prosper round to the far end of the hut and swung open there the wicker door that already lay half open. 

Prosper hesitated – some sanctuaries had doors leading directly into the altar area, where Prosper could assuredly not enter without his priesthood. To his relief, he found instead that the sanctuary was backed by the priest's living quarters. 

They were spacious quarters, Prosper saw: a chamber with a trestle table and chairs, followed by a chamber with a low sitting table and two beds, one presumably for any sick men whom Huard might need to heal. Prosper frowned, wondering with disapproval whether this unpriestly spaciousness of quarters had been Huard's idea. This thought was cut short, however, by a scent arising from a pot hung over the central hearth. Liquid simmered in the pot, sending up smells that tickled at Prosper's nose, though he frowned again as he recognized one of the scents. 

Huard, following his gaze, said, "You caught me at my mid-afternoon meal, I fear. Have you eaten yet?" Then, looking more sharply at Prosper, he asked, "When did you eat last?" 

It took a moment for Prosper to cast his mind back. "Three days ago, before my trial." 

"Sacred Mystery!" Huard seemed as horrified as Prosper would have been had he found a priest-pupil reading a manuscript with dirtied hands. "By all the names, Prosper, fasting is good discipline— Don't laugh; I know you never thought to hear such words from me. But fasting during travel comes perilously close to committing the crime of self-slaying." 

"I was not thinking clearly on the day I left," Prosper explained, "and so I neglected to arrange for a food packet." 

"And your escort did not share their food with you?" Huard's voice was thoughtful. "Yes, I see. Well, sit you down. I think I can promise you that starvation is not a likely death for you during your stay here." 

He gave a quick smile as he guided Prosper to the table. The priest had evidently just sat down to his meal, for the contents of the cup and plate and bowl were all untouched: the golden wine of wall-vine grapes, a slice of flat-bread, and a stew of spring lamb and herbs. 

Only the bread was familiar fare to Prosper. He stared at the meal with distaste as he seated himself at the table. "The brightest purification of all is not fire, but a willing sacrifice." He had tried to teach that to his pupils, but so many, like Huard, had failed to heed the lesson. He found himself wondering briefly whether his exile counted as a sacrifice to the God, but he knew that it did not: he had been given no choice as to whether to be cursed. Still, at least he had the wisdom to understand that sacrifice might sometimes be necessary. He was beginning to wonder whether Huard had listened to any of his lessons. 

Beside him, Huard said cheerfully, "Yes, I'm afraid that I still disagree with you about the degree of austerity required in a priest's diet. You will be glad to know, however, that I have not eaten a sugar ball in over thirty years." 

There was a note of mischief in his voice as he spoke. Prosper looked up sharply at the priest's twinkling eyes and forced himself to remember that he was no longer in a position of spiritual supervision. He looked down at the meal once more. Wine and meat. Even at the quarter-days, when such indulgences were permitted to priests, Prosper had never allowed himself these luxuries, preferring to take the harder, priestly road of sacrifice. 

"I am no longer a priest," he heard himself say. 

"Then you need feel no guilt about eating a temporal man's meal." Huard's hand rested briefly upon Prosper's shoulder before the priest turned back toward the stew. 

Prosper forced himself to taste the wine. It seemed too rich after the water he had drunk for forty-four years. "But I will return to the priesthood in a year's time, I hope," he said. "Surely it would be better for me to maintain a priest's discipline—" 

He stopped abruptly; he had seen on the table the letter from Martin, still bound closed by the ribbon. He put down the cup. "Huard, you ought to read that letter before you welcome me into your home—" 

"Oh, I can guess what it contains," Huard said briskly, returning to the table with a second plate and cup and bowl in hand. "You've been disciplining someone too hard, have you? You know, I do recall telling you at our last meeting that the day would come when you would realize that starving a boy for a week's time because you discovered him chewing a sugar ball is not the best way to impress upon him the nature of the Mercy of all mercies." 

Frowning as he watched Huard bite into a piece of the tender lamb, Prosper said, "The discipline seems not to have worked in your case." 

"You think not?" said Huard placidly. "Well, I'm sure that many of your priest-pupils must have turned out as disappointments to you. Tell me, do you remember Guiscard? He was a year younger than me, and I always wondered whether he was able to overcome that temptation to mischief, of which you tried so hard to break him. Have you heard from him since he took his vows?" 

The conversation took a turn for the normal after that: an old tutor passing on news to his former pupil. Prosper began to feel the knots in his stomach unwind for the first time in three days. Sitting in the sunlight cast slantwise from the doorway, he almost began to feel his usual self. Huard, apparently intent on devoting his attention to sopping up every last bit of broth from his bowl, said little except to ask questions. Prosper, casting a look of disapproval at Huard's unpriestly chubbiness, took care to avoid the meat in his stew and did not touch the wine again. 

The river ran unending outside, droning like a bee. Prosper heard his own voice droning on, as it did late in the day when he must complete quickly a lesson. 

". . . . was much disappointed to hear the latest news concerning Radegund. I know that many of my former pupils do not share my belief that fire is the only way to purify a man or woman of twistedness, but I would hope that any priest worth his name would at least sentence the offender to exile. Yet I hear that, within the last year, Radegund was brought two men who had been found in the very act of lying in twisted lust with each other, and Radegund actually refused to bring charges against the men, instead committing them to discipline. The news was a great disappointment for me, as I had high hopes for Radegund. He was most careful in his translations of the ancient tongue." 

Huard, pushing back his bowl and plate, apparently felt his mind freed for higher matters than food, for he said, "What a sad tale you tell, Prosper. It seems that few of your pupils have lived up to the standards you set for them. And to top it all, here you sit with a priest who is as fond of food as he was when he was your pupil." 

"But you have become a good priest." Warmed by the sun, Prosper felt cheered enough to pass on this praise. 

"How kind of you to say so." Huard was staring down at the bottom of his cup, evidently disappointed that no more wine lay there. 

Prosper felt suddenly angered. He did not pass out compliments lightly, as his former pupil ought to remember. "The evidence is all around me in this chamber: the prayer-lights that were burning when we entered here, the polish on that shelf for the sacred objects, the neatness of your quarters . . . Though in terms of prayer, you have been neglectful, Huard. You ought to have started your preparations for the evening service by now." 

"Oh, I gave those up years ago," said Huard in an easy manner. "I find that my spirit draws closer to the God if I instead spend an hour in silence after the service." 

Prosper felt as much shock rend him as if a pupil had admitted tearing up his prepared lesson. He narrowed his eyes at Huard and said, "Prayer and silence are both necessary, Huard. If you have been neglecting your prayers, I would urge you to mention this to your confessor at your next meeting, so that he can purify you. Otherwise, you will answer to the High Judge above all judges when you meet him at your death." 

Huard, like a pupil daydreaming during his lesson, seemed not to hear. Getting up, he collected his own empty bowl and plate and cup, asking, "Will you have more, Prosper?" 

"Thank you, but no." 

"Are you sure? There is plenty more stew left." 

Prosper was in fact still hungry after his long fast, but he was irritated by Huard's blatant attempt to use his guest as an excuse to break his own discipline. "No," said Prosper, shoving back the bowl angrily to show what he thought of Huard's diet. 

The remaining stew spilled on the table, narrowly missing the ribboned scroll. Huard said nothing, but took Prosper's eating pottery away. Prosper did not bother to hide his sigh. Truly, the life of a teacher was one of disappointments. Even a promising pupil like Huard would prove, when put to the test, to be unable to uphold the hard discipline placed upon him long ago. And Huard _had_ been promising, for all of his indulgence of the demon of gluttony. Prosper found himself thanking the God that he had been committed into divine service at an early age, at a time when it was easy to develop discipline in his own life. 

He raised his hand to touch the God-mask brooch pinned above his heart, before remembering that it had been removed from him at the time of his stripping of priesthood. Suddenly sobered by thoughts of his present troubles, Prosper watched as Huard, returning to the table, used the meat-knife to cut the ribbon binding the scroll. The priest glanced briefly at the opening words of the letter, then said, "We need more light here," and disappeared into the back chamber. 

Prosper resisted the impulse to follow him. The priest returned in a very short time, too short in which to have read the long letter that was now fully unrolled in his hands. He was holding, not a lamp, but a prayer-light, which he placed with the other lights dancing on the shelf for sacred objects. Huard handed the letter to Prosper and said, "My eyes grow worse as the years pile on. Please to do me the favor of reading this aloud to me." 

He did so as Huard carefully returned the disused wine from Prosper's cup into an overly large wine casket nearby. Prosper's voice slowed as he read from the letter. By the time he reached the listing of his demons, he was finding it unexpectedly hard to speak. When he lifted his gaze finally from Martin's words, he saw that Huard was sitting in the corner of the chamber upon some cushions, in the traditional manner of the tribe. At Huard's gesture, Prosper joined him there. 

The priest asked, "Is what Martin writes true?" 

Prosper discovered that his throat was clogged; he had to clear it before he could speak. "If you had asked me a week ago, I would have been hard pressed to understand how Martin could say such things of me." 

"And now?" 

"I would say that he has been more merciful to me than I deserve." Prosper stared down blankly at the letter, which he still held in his hand. The words had blurred, and he could see only the neat, beautiful hand of the City Priest. "He does not tell you that, at the time of the prisoner's trial, Martin made seven attempts to seek private audience with me, in order to warn me, under the lock of confession, that I was breaking my discipline. Nor does he tell you that, toward the end of my trial, I accused him of giving false witness." 

"A remarkable statement, if Martin's reputation is true." Huard's voice was quiet. 

"It is true." Prosper could feel a weight beginning to press upon his chest again. He took a deep breath. "Martin and I have disagreed on many matters since he became a priest. I have felt that he was far too indulgent with those under his care, sentencing them to discipline where cursing would have been appropriate. But one fact was shiningly clear from the moment he first walked through the doors of my training school: he is a person of absolute honesty. When I spoke the words that I did against him . . . When I saw the shock on the faces of the people attending the trial and saw the look of pity on Martin's face . . . It was then that I knew that his charge against me was true, and that I had allowed myself to be captured by demons. But truly, Huard, I do not remember the moment when I permitted the demons entrance; nor do I know best how I should go about ridding myself of them." 

"Can you name your demons?" 

Prosper stared harder at the letter. "Martin tries to." 

"'Tries'? You do not believe that he succeeds?" 

Prosper struggled with the answer, as a man struggles against the current of a stream. "Some of these demons I recognize – they have briefly tempted me over the years, and in the few cases where I have given in to the temptation, I have confessed my crime before the God, in the witness of my confessor. But other demons . . ." He pointed to one word in the letter. "Here Martin says that my native demon is judgment, and that I do not understand what I have done. Certainly it was proved at my trial that I had engaged in harsh and hasty judgment in two cases over the years, and I regret my crimes bitterly. But Martin's phrasing seems to suggest that I ought not to have made any judgment at all, and that is absurd. I am— I was the City Priest, and it was my duty to stand in judgment over those under my care." 

Huard said nothing for a moment. He had picked up a feather from the ground as they spoke and was now using a meat-knife to sharpen the quill into a pen, to the exact same angle Prosper had once taught him. Prosper found the sight oddly comforting. His comfort vanished, though, as Huard asked, without looking up, "When our chieftain refused to welcome you initially – what was in your mind?" 

Prosper tried to cast his mind back, and found that he was gripping his hands together in concentration. "Shock. I could not believe that he would turn upon me in such a manner, when I was of his tribe. Fear. I have been afflicted by the demon of fear for the past three days." He hesitated, then added honestly, "Anger. It seemed to me that he was acting in a manner ill-befitting his title, and that his behavior was likely to bring him punishment from the Mercy of all mercies." 

Huard nodded, set the finished quill-pen carefully aside, and raised his gaze so that it was level with Prosper's. "And what thought did you give to our chieftain's pain?" 

It was a blow as great as the chieftain had given him. For a moment Prosper could do nothing but try to catch his breath as he felt his body grow cold. "Oh, the God," he said in a strained voice. "Have I turned from the Mercy that far?" 

"I fear so." Huard leaned back against the wall, his gaze remaining upon Prosper. "'If a man is struck – whether the man be spiritual or temporal – he must devote no thought to his own pain but only to the pain of the man who has struck him.' That was one of the wisest pieces of advice you ever gave to me and my fellow pupils, yet even as a boy I suspected that you were better at advising in this matter than at following your own advice. You will recall that your words say nothing about passing judgment over the man who has struck you." 

"But I am spiritual— That is, I was a spiritual man, a priest. It was my duty—" 

"Your duty." Huard's expression did not change, but his voice became suddenly harder than before. "Shall we discuss your duty to the God this afternoon, and how you have fulfilled it? You come here, with the blood of your exile mark still fresh, bearing a letter from the City Priest requesting that I offer you advice on discipline – and you must know how rarely it is that such a request is granted to a God-cursed man. Tell me again what you think of my decision to eat meat and wine today." 

Caught off-guard, Prosper said, "It does not seem to me to be in the tradition of priestly discipline that I taught you." 

"Tell me again what you think of my number of prayer-lights." 

"You have a goodly number of lights, but—" He stopped. 

"Go on. Tell me." 

"Perhaps I should not have—" 

"Tell me. I wish you to hear your own words." 

The commands continued remorselessly for several minutes as Huard forced Prosper to repeat the words he had spoken that afternoon. Within the first few replies, Prosper could feel moisture trickling down his spine. By the end, his back was sticky with sweat. 

When he had finished, Huard said, in the same hard voice, "When you arrived here, you told me immediately that you were cursed, and you asked me to read Martin's letter before welcoming you – that much is to your credit. Other than that, however, I have seen none of the marks of duty due from a God-cursed man to the man who may or may not consent to act as priest to him. Instead, your behavior has been wholly that of a tutor holding judgment over his pupil: you said nothing about your crimes until I prompted you, but you have passed judgment upon me for my dietary discipline, the setting of my house, my worship discipline, and my conduct as a priest. Nor have you confined your judgments to me: you have passed judgment upon our chieftain, upon Martin, and upon the priests who were once entrusted to your care – all of them men who are welcome to the God's presence. You, a man bearing the curse-mark of the God's enemy, make these judgments. You, who have been found unworthy to wear the robe of priesthood." 

Huard's voice, as adamantine as iron, was so far now from the hesitant pleading he had engaged in as a boy that Prosper felt his mind whirling in an eddy of bewilderment. Clutching at the first thought that drifted his way, he said, "You are right that I should not, in my present spiritual state, pass judgment upon you, but—" 

"Sacred Mystery, Prosper, have you closed your ears entirely to the God's voice? Then hear words that you may remember better: 'A pupil may ask questions, but he must neither condemn nor praise his tutor, for either act presumes that he is in the position of judge.' Or have you come to disbelieve your own teachings?" 

Prosper struggled to breathe. He cast down his eyes for a moment before saying, "I have a question." 

"Ask." Huard's voice had passed beyond hardness to coldness. 

"You speak of what I am now, since the demons entered me, but what of the time when I was City Priest, before the demons took hold of me? Surely at that time it was my duty to pass judgment—" 

"And do you truly believe, Prosper, that the God gave you the honor of having spiritual care over his people so that you could spend all your waking days worrying over whether your priest-pupils were eating too many sugar balls, or whether the men and women who took you as confessor had neglected some small crime, so that you could drag them into the God's court and have the triumph of showing how superior you were to them in your spiritual state?" Huard leaned forward. His eyes were as cold now as dark pebbles in a winter stream. "How long has it been, Prosper, since you gave thought to any other living creature, except to judge him? How long has it been since you were silent long enough to listen to the God's voice, whether it came from the sacred flame or from the men and women of whom you are so scornful?" 

Prosper could not answer; he could not even raise his gaze above his hands, now white as they clenched each other. Above him, Huard continued remorselessly, "Vainglory in believing that your discipline is superior to all others. Arrogance in spurning the food offered to you by your host. Self-focus in giving no thought to other people's needs but only to what punishment you can place them under. Greed in assuming that the priesthood is your right rather than a gift from the God. Envy that causes you to examine carefully the spiritual states of others so that you can reassure yourself that others are in a more demeaned state than your own. Cowardice in refusing to acknowledge that these demons did not enter you recently or briefly, but have been within you for most of your life. Above all, an evil judgment that has prevented you from listening when Martin, as your confessor, no doubt said words to you very like the words I am giving you now. . . . Have I named your demons, Prosper?" 

"No." Prosper's voice was breathless and broken. "I must have dozens more demons. The God help me, I did not know." 

He covered his face and wept. 

After a time, he felt Huard's hand upon his shoulder; after a time more, Prosper lifted his wet face to look up at the priest, who was standing beside him. Though the late afternoon light made the priest's face glow, Prosper's vision was darkened by tears. Prosper whispered, "Can I be saved?" 

"Certainly." Huard's voice was reassuringly matter-of-fact. "You know your catechism, Prosper. 'Any man who requests aid of the Mercy of all mercies shall receive it.' Your battle against the demons will not be an easy one, though. I would hate to tell you what sort of disciplines you would have placed me under if, during my four years as a priest-pupil, I had committed half as many crimes against the God as you have managed to commit in the space of two hours." 

"I require hard discipline." Prosper had dropped his gaze to the ground and was struggling to keep his breath even. "I see that now – my spirit is in dire peril. . . . Huard, I have no right to ask this of you, but will you help me?" 

As he spoke, he shifted himself into the position he now realized he should have fallen into from the moment he passed over Huard's threshold: that of a God-cursed man kneeling in petition before a priest who, by the God's Law, was under no obligation to help him – could indeed hand him over to a murderous crowd if he considered it appropriate. Prosper felt again the edge of fear pricking at his skin, and he was staring now with dark wonder upon the words he had spoken in this chamber. Sacred Mystery, he could have died of starvation had not the priest shown mercy upon him, yet he had openly scorned the food of his host. He felt a sickness enter into him. 

"Certainly," Huard replied, in as straightforward a manner as before. He eased Prosper back into a sitting position and squatted down beside him. "I am restricted in the help I can give by the God's Law, though. You know the rules on exile, Prosper: I cannot offer you the comfort of the God's presence during your year of exile, neither to hear your confession in the God's name, nor to purify you, nor to allow you to give participation in the worship services. I can offer you advice on discipline should you ask, but I cannot punish you if you break your discipline, nor can I even draw your attention to the fact that you have broken your discipline, unless you ask for further advice from me. Are you willing to listen to my advice under such conditions?" 

"Huard, I am a hand's breath from the eternal fire that cannot be quenched." Prosper's voice was hoarse. "If you told me to eat a bag of sugar balls, I would follow your advice." 

"You anticipate me." The smile in Huard's tone caused Prosper to lift his eyes, but the priest's expression was serious as he said, "Two disciplines, then, I advise upon you. The first is that you must put aside all thoughts of your priesthood during this exile. Whatever you may be in a year's time, for now you are a temporal man and must engage in behavior appropriate to a temporal man." 

"I see," said Prosper slowly. "Eating sugar balls." 

"They are a symbol only." The smile had made its way onto Huard's face. "You must eat as a temporal man does, dress as he does, and above all act as he does. You know the catechism, Prosper: one of the greatest crimes a temporal man can commit is to pass judgment upon the spiritual state of his fellow living spirits. If you suspect that someone's spirit is in danger of being demon-infected, then it is your duty to report the matter to me, but otherwise you must in no way try to judge whether anyone you meet is a dutiful servant of the God. Your duty instead is to seek out ways in which you can be of assistance to others, ways that do not require you to judge other people's spiritual states." 

"That is good ad—" Prosper caught himself in time and said, in a low voice, "I thank you for giving me this advice, Huard. I will follow the discipline as you have suggested. And the other advice?" 

"Concerns your worship discipline. Had you given any thought to that?" 

Prosper nodded. "Most of my ponderings on the way here were devoted to that. I thought it best if I adhere more strictly than before to the times of prayer, devoting most of my waking hours to prayer and self-examination—" 

He broke off; the priest was shaking his head. Rising to his feet, Huard began using his moistened thumb and forefinger to silence the prayer-lights about the chamber. "Think again, Prosper," he said, as though the man before him were a dull-minded pupil. "How did your demons enter, and what discipline is appropriate to close that path of entrance?" 

Prosper shut his eyes, as though preparing himself to pronounce a particularly difficult word in the ancient tongue. He said finally, "My thoughts have been centered too much upon myself. If I engage in long periods of self-examination, my demon of self-focus will take advantage of this fact to pull my thoughts further from other people onto myself." 

"Indeed." Huard's voice came through the darkness disembodied, as though he were the God. "Self-examination is one danger; prayer is another. Prosper, the easiest way to allow the demons victory over you is for you to pray to the God." 

Prosper's eyes flew open. "But—" He stopped, stilled not by any understanding, but by a warning look from the priest. 

While Prosper's eyes had been closed, Huard had changed into the formal robe of the evening service. The robe's gold edging glittered in the last shimmer of the day's light and in the glow of the single prayer-light that remained lit. The priest now held in his hand the purification lamp, unlit. Prosper, staring at it, felt a word welling up within him. 

The priest nodded as though Prosper had spoken the word, though of course the word was reserved for use by priests. "I am sorry to say this, Prosper, but I fear that you have been neglecting the discipline of silence. You have all the signs of a man who has talked and talked and talked, whether to his fellow spirits or to the God, and has done no listening for many years. That, more than anything, explains your condition. The demons abhor silence, and they love a mind filled with speech and thoughts and even prayer, provided that the prayer is not balanced by moments of silence when the petitioner awaits the God's response. 

"And so the second discipline I place upon you – a harder discipline – is that you do not pray during the coming year. You should speak as little as possible, confine your thoughts to the duties I placed upon you a while ago, and engage in the silence as many times a day as you were planning to talk to the God." 

Prosper forced himself to wait before answering. He found himself straining his spirit to do so, like a priest who has forgotten long-ago lessons in the changing vowels of the ancient tongue. He held back until his spirit was beginning to shake from the strain; then he looked up at Huard. In the diffident voice of a pupil to his tutor, he asked, "If I do this, do you believe that I have the strength to drive out my demons so that I can re-enter the God's presence and return to the priesthood?" 

Huard was a long time returning his answer. His gaze was upon the shadows on the floor, as though he were judging the moment at which he must enter the sanctuary. Finally he looked up and said, "Do you remember the shortest sentence in the catechism?" 

Prosper nodded slowly. "'Trust the God.'" 

Huard's hand touched his shoulder briefly, and then the priest was gone, leaving Prosper to the silence of the coming evening.


	2. Chapter 2

_"Mystery."_

The sacred word, whispered in the ancient tongue, carried to the far reaches of the sanctuary. In the dark, the only sound to be heard was the clinking of the chain of the priest's lamp as the purifying light from it touched the faces of the kneeling worshippers, along with the crackle of the sacred flame burning behind the man-sized God-mask hanging behind Huard. The priest himself, outlined between the God-mask and the darkness of the sanctuary, could barely be seen. His whisper and the lamp were the only evidence that the God's representative stood in this chamber. 

Prosper, hidden in a black corner where the purifying light could not reach him, tried to bring his mind to silence. After three months, he still felt uneasy at these services. Partly this was because Huard practiced the modern custom of mixing the sexes at services. Partly, though, it was because he could not rid himself of the feeling that he was breaking the God's Law by being here. 

"But I am forbidden to attend services!" he had cried in the early days, when he was still struggling to adopt the discipline of phrasing his protests as questions and requests. 

Huard did not admonish him – could not admonish him, by the God's Law – but said only, "In our days together in the training school, I was never able to accept your desire to read more into the God's Law than is found in the text itself. The law on exile says that a God-cursed man may not be purified or give participation at worship. I take this to mean that you cannot recite the names or the prayers. But the first part of the service, the silence, is different. I believe that you would benefit from sharing silence with the other tribal folk." 

A good notion, Prosper thought to himself – momentarily slipping in his discipline against passing judgment on Huard – but it would have been easier for him to keep the silence if he had not been attending services with women and children. He let his eyes open momentarily to identify where the distracting noise was coming from. It was not hard to guess, for it came from the same direction every time: in the rows nearest the altar area, where the children knelt. 

Today, the front row was filled with four boys wearing identical tunics, clearly of the same family. Prosper – standing rather than kneeling, for this was the only way for him to keep outside of the purifying light – could see the children quite clearly: two boys just above weaning age, a third boy slightly older, and a catechism-aged boy. 

The youngest boys, quite naturally, were fidgetting the most during the silence, turning to look at the people behind them and exchanging nudges. The third was better disciplined: he was still, with his head bowed, clearly attempting to silence his spirit in hope that the God would speak to him. 

The fourth boy was different. For a start, he had a more dishevelled appearance than even the youngest boys: his tunic was rumpled and crooked, and his hair was uncombed. From long experience of teaching boys this age, Prosper judged him to be of fifteen years, yet the boy looked far from ready for his coming-of-age. The boy sighed heavily at periodic intervals, scuffed his toes against the stone floor, and swung his arms to and fro, jostling his quieter brother. 

Prosper saw a stirring in the second row, where some of the women knelt. A fine-boned woman leaned forward and whispered in the boy's ear. He bit his lip and nodded, ceasing to swing his arms or scuff his toes, but even this admonishment could not prevent him from sighing again as the silence progressed. 

Prosper knew how he felt. Closing his eyes, he tried again to still the thoughts that scurried about in his mind like restless boy-pupils. At the front of the sanctuary, the sacred flame continued to whisper forth its secrets, almost hidden by the dark mask that represented the God's unknowability. Only a glimpse of the fire upon the altar could be seen through the eye-holes in the mask. 

The sacred flame. It had always been the most comforting object in Prosper's life, serving as it did as a visible image of the God, and also as a reminder of that which remained hidden behind the mask of the God's unknowability. To the God's beloved folk, the flame would one day bring light and warmth; to his enemies, the flame would be a fire that could never be quenched. 

The flame was one thing more than that, and increasingly Prosper found his thoughts dwelling on that other use of the sacred flame as the months of his exile continued. 

When he had expressed a desire to be burned at the end of his exile if the demons were not exorcised, Prosper had intended the statement as no more than a formal gesture of regret. He had not doubted at that time that he would be able to rid himself of his demons. Now, after three months in which he had made little progress, his breath caught tight within him whenever the flame was lit. 

More times than he could count, he had watched as men or women were chained to the stone pillar that was erected in every tribal territory for this purpose. Most of the God-cursed were there for twistedness; some were there for other grave crimes against the God, such as atheism or oath-breaking. Some had been placed there for lesser crimes, when discipline had failed to work: crimes such as murder, abuse of power, or impure love. 

Always, when Prosper was present, he had been the one to light the torch from the sacred flame and to come forward to set ablaze the wood beneath the God-cursed person's feet. He never delegated the duty; he considered it too sacred an act. This was the priests' final mercy: their last attempt to save the God-cursed from the terrible fate of entering into the God's light when their spiritual condition was so grave that such light could only be an eternal fire for them. 

The purification by fire sometimes worked. On a few joyous occasions during his priesthood, Prosper had heard the dying man or woman cry out words which made clear that the brief but intense pain had brought such repentance to the God-cursed that the demons were forced to flee. When that happened – if the God's Law were to be trusted, as surely it was – the God lifted his curse in the last moments of life and welcomed the man or woman into the light that would now bring eternal comfort to the godly spirit. 

Prosper was beginning to suspect, though, that even the men and women who were successfully purified through fire might have had a different perspective than their priest on the sacred act they were undergoing. 

Staring at the flame, Prosper became aware that his shirt had become covered with sweat and was now clinging to his body. Hastily, he closed his eyes and tried to still his mind. If Prosper could only hear the voice that the flame represented . . . 

"Mercy of all mercies, High Judge above all judges, Commander beyond all commanders, Father within all fathers—" Huard's whisper, breaking into the silence, jarred Prosper like a shout. Sighing inwardly, he opened his eyes and then, as quietly as possible, he slipped through the side door. Behind him, the tribal folk began to recite the many names of the Unknowable God, which he was forbidden to speak. 

Usually he tried to continue his discipline of silence for the remaining time before the evening meal, but tonight he was too weary and downcast to do so. Instead, rather than let his mind dwell on the discouragements of the day, he busied himself with the tasks that he had volunteered to do as Huard's temporal guest: cleaning ashes out of the central hearth and placing new wood there, scrubbing the cooking pot in the nearby river under the summer moonlight, checking the bedsheets to see whether they needed to be put out for washing the next day. By the time he was through, he could hear the tribal folk emerging from the sanctuary door. As always, Huard lingered in the sanctuary, cleaning behind the altar area and upholding his own discipline of silence. 

It was mid-evening by the time he returned. Prosper, who was tenderly carrying an armful of manuscripts to the shelves where they belonged, was careful to say nothing as Huard entered, both because his own discipline demanded it, and because Huard usually preferred to maintain his silence after his return home. 

The priest, though, was in one of his chatting moods tonight. "Three confessions from boys," he announced cheerfully. "They always keep me overly long. Oh, to be a boy again and to treat with such seriousness the terrible crime of scuffing one's toes." 

The corner of Prosper's mouth turned up; he could guess who had given that confession. "I was wishing tonight that I was a boy also." 

"Ah." Huard, pulling off his robe of worship, paused to give one of his opaque looks at Prosper. "Tonight's silence was difficult?" 

"As difficult as it has been for the past three months," Prosper said, his voice tight. "I seem doomed to live out all the warnings I gave to you and my other pupils. 'Be sure to practice the ancient tongue daily, for what is learned with ease as a child will be hard to relearn in old age if you forget it.' Do you remember when I said that to you?" 

"Quite clearly," said Huard in the ancient tongue, pronouncing his _q_ in the exact manner that he had been taught. "So the language of silence is as hard to relearn?" 

"After thirty-five years of talking non-stop? The God, Huard – I don't know how to describe it. Such a simple discipline, I thought, and not one that I need worry about overly much. And so, when the silence came, I either kept my mind on the tutors and pupils who assisted at the service, judging whether they were behaving properly, or else, on the occasions when I was the purifier, I kept my mind on the worshippers, judging whether they were all properly attentive. It did not occur to me that I would become incapable of listening myself." 

"Ah, well," said the priest. "It will come back as time passes. You are becoming more attentive in listening to others." 

Prosper shook his head. "That is hard enough – to pay as much attention to a person's words as I would if it were a difficult passage in the ancient tongue – but this is far worse. No words have come to me yet, only emptiness. The God who reads all hearts knows that I do not deserve to be spoken to, but still—" He looked over to where Huard was adding new oil to the prayer-light that had remained lit since his arrival. The sight of the candle stilled the demon of fear that was beginning to take hold of Prosper. He said more quietly, "Do you have any advice to offer me on this?" 

Huard, putting aside the oil ewer, considered the matter for a moment before saying, "The river may help." 

"The river? . . . Oh, the God, yes! I had forgotten that image – I haven't used it since my earliest years of tutoring. I'm not even sure I remember it in full." 

"Silence is a river," Huard said promptly. "A river at night, black and fearful, carrying unknown dangers. You must not linger on the shore, nor must you try to swim – that will only carry you back to the shore. Instead, you must fling yourself into the water, and trust the God to take you to where his light is. There you may hear his voice." 

"A good im—" He caught himself in time and said, "Thank you; that image is helpful to me. I will know next time to let the river carry me rather than try to swim into the silence through my own efforts." 

Nodding contentedly, Huard picked up the globular silver vessel in which the sacred flame had burned and began polishing it in a carefully methodical manner that Prosper had begun to know well. Prosper cocked his ear, and after a moment, carried on the hush of a breeze, he began to hear the noise that Huard had heard: the low hum of the tribal folk gathering for the evening meal. 

"Supper is beginning," said Prosper, knowing that in this small matter he could be of assistance to Huard. "Let's join the others." 

"It is early yet," said Huard, who did not look up from the purifying lamp. The priest's stomach gave a growl of protest at these words. 

"Yes, but I am eager to mix with the others tonight," said Prosper, not meaning the words, but knowing that it was the easiest way to make Huard join him at the feast. 

Huard put down the silver lamp with a smile. From the look in his eyes, Prosper knew that he understood the motive of Prosper's words. 

Thirty-four years before, Prosper had experienced one of the greatest shocks of his life when he had entered the only private place in his training school – the altar area which no one but vowed priests were permitted to enter – to find huddled under the altar a small, plump boy eating a bag of sugar balls that a soft-hearted woman from the nearby tribe had given him. 

Temporal men had burned for less. Prosper had considered himself exceedingly merciful for sentencing the boy only to a week's fast. Not until three months ago, though, had Prosper begun to remember – had allowed himself to remember – what place food held in the hunting tribe in which both he and Huard had been raised. 

First came mid-morning meals, when the tribal folk travelled sociably from hut to hut, sampling each other's foods. These were followed by mid-afternoon meals, in which the various groups within the tribe – the mothers, the hunters, the soldiers, the children – gathered separately and discussed, at great length, their favorite meals from the past. Next were the early evening snacks, usually taking place immediately after the service, in which children, in particular, exchanged bags of sweets and engaged in long bargaining over whether two sugar balls equalled one honey cake. And finally, climaxing the day, a three-hour feast between mid-evening and midnight, in which the day's hunting was roasted upon spits, and the delicate dishes that the women had spent most of the day preparing were poured out onto platters for all to admire. 

In the midst of the tribe of the Feasters, Huard – inclined by bodily temperament and upbringing to love rich foods and sweets – practiced an austerity that stunned his fellow tribal folk. Every day, he merrily attended the important social events of the day: the mid-morning guesting, the mid-afternoon bonding, the early evening trading, and the late evening feast. He walked amidst wine caskets and sizzling mountain cats and high peaks of sugar balls, admiring them all and contributing his own anecdotes about which foods tasted best. 

He ate almost nothing. 

Sweets had not passed into his mouth since the day when he reacted to Prosper's stern lecture about the demon of gluttony with tears of repentance. Meat and wine, the staple foods of the tribe, he almost never ate. Beans and vegetables and fruits, which formed the central portion of priests' diet, were not part of the tribe's traditional diet, and Huard had made no suggestion that such foods be added to the tribe. Instead, he existed almost entirely on a small amount of water, a small amount of cheese, and bread imported from the neighboring crop-growing tribe, which was almost always stale and hard by the time it reached the border. 

The tribal women – clearly convinced that their portly priest was about to expire from starvation – would periodically leave offerings of meat and wine at Huard's doorstep. Whenever possible, Huard would quietly dispose of these gifts to needy families within the tribe. In cases where such imparting would create hurt feelings, Huard did not spurn the gift but instead invited temporal guests to his home. He would urge these guests to eat helping after helping of the meat and wine, while he himself ate the bare minimum required of a polite host. 

After six weeks of watching Huard's dietary habits – which the priest never discussed – Prosper had awakened one morning to the realization that he had been placed under the care of a man who was as gifted in bodily and spiritual discipline as Prosper himself was gifted in tutoring. After that, Prosper had found that his discipline of humility toward the priest was considerably easier. 

o—o—o

The smell of roasting deer caused Prosper's stomach to gurgle as he and Huard walked toward the open area where the communal meals were held. Torches stood on poles at the head and foot of each of the trestle tables holding the food, but the torches were barely needed on this moonlit night. Even before he entered the clearing, Prosper could see the piles of pies filled with badger meat, the sticks piercing various types of bird-meat, the trays offering a choice of golden or ruddy wines, and bowls filled with boiled pastries covered with white sugar, a delicacy that Prosper had discovered was the most pleasant aspect of his dietary discipline. 

Huard, following his usual custom of ignoring the food until one of the tribal folk dragged him bodily to the serving tables, wandered off to greet some of the hunters and to allow them to describe, in mouth-watering detail, the succulent choices of the night. Prosper carefully wove his way through the tangle of tribal folk sitting on the ground or, in the case of older men and women, on tree stumps. He was trying to still the demon of panic arising within him. 

The three-hour feasts had become a time of daily torture for Prosper. Here, as nowhere else, he was forced to accept the truth of what his place was in the tribe. For the moment, he tried to pretend to himself that the other people there were too absorbed in conversation to notice him. 

He paused before one of the torches, considering the spectacle before him. It had not taken him many meals here to realize that the demon of gluttony did not trouble him, and that his austere eating habits over the decades had been of no spiritual benefit to him – indeed, had been of benefit to the demons, since his vainglory over his eating habits had increased every time he encountered priests whose bodily temperaments required them to struggle to achieve the discipline that Prosper achieved with ease. 

With his indifference to food, Prosper was learning that his real struggle was to concentrate his mind on each day's offerings so that he looked like an ordinary temporal man. 

He considered the problem with a focussed spirit, as he would if asked to translate a particularly difficult passage. Only the ill took less than five dishes at his tribe's evening feast; the question was how to fill himself slowly with food so that he had enough room left at the end for the sugar balls and other sweets. He decided finally to begin with the soup: that was usually more broth than meat, and he could dip into it the hard flat-bread that his priestly discipline no longer demanded, but for which he had acquired a peculiar nostalgia. 

He picked up one of the glazed bowls and walked over to the simmering cooking pot. The ladle was too hot to touch directly. Pulling a rag from his belt that he kept there for such purposes, he wound the cloth round his hand and began to raise the soup into his bowl. 

A jarring blow at his elbow caused him to drop the ladle. He gave an involuntary cry as the burning liquid splashed onto his skin. Turning his head, he saw, without surprise, one of the tribal youths who enjoyed playing this sort of game with him. The youth had his arm wrapped over a friend's shoulder, and both the young men were laughing heartily. 

With effort, Prosper turned his thoughts toward fishing the ladle out of the soup into which it had fallen. For several weeks now, he had suspected the youth and his friend of being twisted, for they spent far too much time with each other and far too little time with the other young men. On one terrible night, Prosper had been tortured by temptations to tell Huard of this serious spiritual matter. By morning, though, he was able to chase away the demon of judgment and see the matter clearly. Huard was far too skilled a priest not to know the signs of twistedness. If the youth and his friend had not been formally cursed, it was either because Huard had placed the youths under discipline or because he believed that the demons would leave of their own accord in due time. Or because, quite possibly, Prosper had read the evidence incorrectly. In any case, the matter was a spiritual one, and Prosper would be placing his own spirit in peril if he allowed himself to dwell on it. 

The youths were gone and Prosper's hand was scalded by the time he managed to pull out the ladle. Wiping the ladle carefully clean with his rag, he completed the task of filling his bowl. And then, alas, he was faced with his usual daily nightmare: of figuring out which group to join. 

The hunters, Prosper had found, simply ignored his presence. Prosper could comfort himself with the knowledge that hunters behaved like that toward everyone; they considered their work to be inferior only to the work of priests, and perhaps not even that. Prosper remembered this well, for his father had been a hunter. His father's pride had demanded that, if his son were determined to be a priest, he should become one in as honorable a fashion as possible, taking his instruction from the High Priest himself. Still, that had been the end of any communication between Prosper and his hunting family. 

With bits of hunting lore still trickling through his memory, Prosper had recently attempted to join the hunters on one of their trails, carrying their extra spears as a boy does. The hunters had made no move to stop him, but neither had they acknowledged his presence, and one flung spear – thrown where Prosper would have been if he had not ducked in time – had made clear to the exiled man that his services were not wanted. 

The soldiers had been much the same. Normally the most affable of men, always eager to discuss their trade with outsiders, they had taken to unsheathing and polishing their blades on the occasions when Prosper stopped by to ask whether he could be of any assistance in fetching water and doing other small tasks while they practiced their wrestling and swordplay. Prosper, whose training school had been located next to a military yard and who knew what soldiers could do when their tempers were roused, was finding it increasingly difficult to call up the courage to approach that group of men. 

The craftsmen were more forthright in their response to his offers of help: Prosper still had a cut on the cheek where a shard of pottery had grazed him. Even the frail and ill of the camp were accustomed to shouting invectives at him when he tried to assist them through his priestly knowledge of healing. 

Prosper's greatest hope had then dwelt with the children, for he did not think it was vainglory to acknowledge that the God had given him a gift for being able to communicate with the young, especially with the catechism-aged boys whom he had taught for so many years. Children were also less likely to have acquired the deep fear that their elders felt toward the God-cursed. Having run these thoughts through his mind, Prosper had decided that he would be doing the children's parents a service if he helped to keep the children occupied with tales or other light amusements. 

A mother screaming in hysteria at the sight of Prosper talking to her young daughter had put an end to this idea. From that moment forward, all of the mothers had kept a careful lookout for him, and children scattered in fear at the sight of him. When Huard began to receive requests from the tribal folk that Prosper be expelled from the territory, Prosper abandoned further attempts to contact the tribal children. It surprised him how much this forced sacrifice cut into him. 

Looking over the crowd, he caught sight of Huard, who was cheerfully talking with the chieftain Iolo while dipping his bread into his water to soften it sufficiently to chew. The two men were just a hand's breath away from a badger sizzling over a spit. Prosper felt no desire to join them; Iolo's spear had been the one that had nearly impaled him. 

A roar of laughter turned his attention toward a group of young men near the wine caskets. From their gestures, Prosper gathered that his tormenters were spreading the story of the ladle. Prosper sighed, then straightened his spine. Looking at the group, he found it hard to believe that the youths felt shock or fear or dismay as a result of his presence. Nevertheless, it was all too likely that he had harmed at least some of the young men by returning to the tribe. Clearly, his duty lay in visiting the group and seeing whether he could mend matters in any way. 

He wove his way round the tribal folk who were seated on the ground. As he approached the young men, the group grew suddenly silent. Several of the youths clutched their spears tighter, and one reached for his dagger. Prosper, feeling the smile beginning to stiffen on his face, asked, "Might I join you?" 

There was a pause. The original youth and his friend exchanged some sort of silent message involving raised eyebrows and nods; then the youth silently gestured toward the empty space beside him. 

Prosper's smile grew more genuine. He stepped forward – and immediately fell over the spear shaft that the youth's friend had thrust between his feet. 

He managed to fall on his hands and knees rather than his face, but his bowl crashed to the ground underneath him, spattering the stew onto his chest and thighs. A few drops landed on the young man with the dagger, who began to curse Prosper roundly with a lengthy description – pulled from the catechism, which he had apparently memorized well – of what happens to the God-cursed after death. Shouts of laughter all but engulfed his words. 

Prosper closed his eyes, feeling the demon of anger rushing through his blood. He deserved this, he reminded himself. He deserved much more than this. 

During his years as a priest, Prosper had always been reluctant to sentence anyone to exile. He considered such a sentence to be no mercy; everyone knew that more God-cursed men died in exile than survived. Most were slain during the first few days after their expulsion, when their fresh curse-mark made it clear to all who met them that they had recently entered exile. Even after the curse-mark healed, the exiled man or woman would generally wander from territory to territory, living off of the countryside and never staying in any place long, lest the scar left by the curse-mark be noticed and someone should question too closely when the mark had been incised. 

Winter was the worst test for the exile. Every spring, during the thaw, hunters and field-hands happened across the frozen bodies of curse-marked men and women who had not survived the snows. Their unpurified corpses, even more than the burnings, helped to keep the northern peninsula's people from straying from the God's path. 

Prosper did not have the skills to live off of the countryside; if it had not been for the mercy of Martin and Huard, he would have died very quickly during his exile. Even the taunting youths, Prosper reminded himself as he rose to his feet amidst the laughter, granted him mercy by permitting him, however grudgingly, to live amidst them during this year. 

With this thought in mind, Prosper managed to make a moderately sincere apology to the dagger owner. Though it took a moment's struggle with his anger demon, he even offered an apology to the spear-owner when the youth demanded one. This provoked another shout of laughter. Prosper departed as quickly as possible, clutching the empty stew bowl. 

He was forced to make his way back through the rest of the tribe, enduring the glances of amusement or scorn at his dripping figure. Passing the table, he saw that several bowls of stew lay upon it, but these had ferns placed over their rims, the tribal manner of indicating that the owner had placed the bowl down temporarily and would be returning to reclaim it. 

The cooking pot was considerably less full than it had been before. Prosper began to wonder whether he would be able to eat anything at all before the feast ended. Deciding that he needed stronger sustenance than the stew in his refilled bowl, he began to walk toward the wine caskets. 

A woman refilling one of the platters with a basket full of sweet-buns blocked his path. She was the woman he had seen earlier at the service, Prosper noted as he came closer, while he mentally counted his heartbeats up to five. He was barely aware that he did so; it was an old discipline, taught to him when he had been a priest-pupil under the High Priest, to prevent him from allowing his idle gaze to linger too long on any woman, lest lustful desires arise. None ever had, but the discipline was so ingrained in him by now that not even his new discipline as a temporal man could make him fully aware of the counting. 

The woman, alas, noticed his glance at the fourth heartbeat. He was on the point of passing behind her, and she jerked around, startled. The basket in her hand fell, causing the sweet-buns to roll to the ground. 

Prosper felt joy surge through him. Here, at least, he had a clear excuse to be of assistance to another living spirit. Quickly placing his bowl aside and covering the rim with a fern, he rushed over to where the woman was trying to gather some sweet-buns that had rolled away. 

"Allow me to assist you," said Prosper, kneeling down beside her. 

The woman rose rapidly to her feet and said breathlessly, "Please, there's no need—" 

"It is a pleasure," said Prosper, trying to sound as cheerful as Huard as he reached over for a sweet-bun that was nudging the woman's foot. "I'm used to picking objects off the ground; I was quite clumsy as a boy. Once I dropped a purification lamp during the middle of service, and the worshippers were so frightened that they—" 

He stopped. It is difficult to speak when a blade-tip is pressed against your throat. 

Prosper was on his haunches, leaning forward; he resisted the impulse to jerk back and cry out to Huard for help. The priest could not help him in this. Though none of the tribal folk had yet dared to displease their priest by killing Prosper, it remained their right under the God's Law to do so. Feeling very much like an ant that has a boot-heel hovering over it, Prosper raised his eyes. 

Above him, standing a foot ahead of the woman, was the honey-skinned soldier whom Prosper faintly remembered seeing on his first day's return to the territory. The man's battle-scarred hand was holding the sword hilt with a looseness that betokened experience. His dark eyes were as cold as the Black River. Prosper, feeling sweat begin to trickle between his throat and the blade, resisted the impulse to swallow. 

The dark-eyed soldier said, in a voice as low as distant thunder, "Stay away from my wife, demon-man." 

Prosper felt the rumble of his own distant thunder; he quickly closed his eyes. He must not think of his own pain, he remembered as he tried to chase back the demons of anger and fear. He must think of the pain of others. He opened his eyes again. Behind the man, the woman was clutching at her basket; the lines of her face were drawn taut. He had frightened her, Prosper realized. The man had every reason to be angry. 

"I apologize for my ill behavior, madam," he said, trying not to move his throat overly much as he spoke. "I ought not to have come upon you so abruptly. I hope that you and your husband will accept my—" 

He closed his mouth. Blood trickled down his throat from where the blade had pressed in. The dark-eyed soldier said, in a voice more rumbling than before, "One word more, and you die." 

Prosper closed his eyes again and wondered whether his discipline permitted him a prayer to the God at a juncture like this. He suspected that such a prayer would receive no answer. 

Then, with a swiftness akin to that of the God, Huard appeared at the side of the woman. Ignoring Prosper and the soldier as though they were not there, he said to the woman, "Is it true what I've heard, Charity, that you cooked today's sugar balls? I cannot tell you how many compliments I have heard on them! Is the secret in the honey, or do you perhaps boil the pastries for a minute longer than is usual—" 

The soldier, seemingly unwilling to shed blood in a priest's presence, silently withdrew his blade from Prosper's windpipe and carefully wiped off the small amount of blood at the tip before sheathing his sword. Prosper, who was beginning to shake, waited until the soldier had joined the debate as to whether bumblebee honey or flower-bee honey was best used on sugar balls; then he arose and shakily returned to the table. 

Given the events of the meal so far, he was almost surprised to find the bowl just as he had left it, rather than overturned in the dirt. He put the fern aside and then, feeling that he could not make it as far as the wine without bodily renewal, lifted the bowl to his lips. 

His mouth stopped at the rim of the bowl. He had filled the bowl halfway, but now it was brimming over the rim. His eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward to sniff the stew. 

A short time later he knelt in the wet grass of the riverbank, watching under moonlight as the urine-soaked stew disappeared into the black waters. Pain was washing over him in unending waves. 

It had been like this every night for three months. He told himself that the torment he was enduring was small in comparison to the destruction he had inflicted upon those under his priestly care for the past forty-four years, but he seemed unable to clear his spirit tonight, as he had succeeded on all previous nights. He reached down to wash the bowl, feeling the chill water tug at his hand. 

It took a great deal of courage for him to return to the cooking pot for a fourth bowl. He managed it only by remembering an old discipline, not used since priest-pupil days, of watching his footsteps and thinking of nothing except the next step he was going to take. Thus he was in front of the cooking pot and already reaching out with his bowl before he noticed the boy crouched behind the enormous pot. 

The boy was hidden in shadow from the moonlight and the torches. Prosper was only able to see the outline of his upturned face from the glowing embers beneath the cooking pot. The boy whispered, "Don't tell him I'm here." 

Prosper frowned, saying, "Don't tell who?" Then, too late, he recognized who the boy was. 

He turned his head swiftly. Marching toward the pot, his sword unsheathed, was the dark-eyed soldier. Prosper's hand shook, and the bowl fell irretrievably into the pot. The soldier had threatened to kill him if Prosper spoke to his wife. What would the soldier do when he discovered this God-cursed man talking to his eldest son? Prosper began to think that the High Priest had not been so merciful when he declined to send Prosper to the fire of purification. 

Fortunately, Prosper was not forced to decide whether his temporal duties required him to report the boy's location. Sighting Prosper next to the pot, the soldier frowned and veered his path away, in the direction of the military yard. "Orel!" the man shouted. "Orel, where are you?" 

The boy, peering round the side of the pot, waited until the soldier had disappeared behind the hut that served as an armory before he rose to his feet. Seen in torchlight, he proved to be honey-colored like his father, with blue eyes like his mother. Wine juice was drying in the corner of his grimy face, and his hair remained as dishevelled as it had been during the service. He emitted a long sigh. 

Amused, Prosper fought to retain his stern expression. "Your punishment won't be any lighter if you delay it, you know," he warned the boy. 

"Oh, I haven't done anything wrong, truly," said the boy Orel. "It's just that Father wants me to show off the dagger skills I learned at the yard today." 

"And you don't care for weapon-play?" Prosper felt immediate empathy. He could remember avoiding hunting lessons with his own father. 

Orel seemed surprised by the question. "Of course I like it. I'm going to be a soldier, like Father is." Then, seeing Prosper's brow crease with puzzlement, he explained, "It's just that I don't like to do soldiering _all_ the time. I want to talk to Huard so that I can ask him questions about the God's Law." 

"Well," said Prosper, looking over the boy again and deciding that his original estimate of Orel's age had been correct, "you could ask Huard about that at your next catechism lesson." 

Orel shook his head. "Huard lets all of us boys learn at our own pace, and I learned the catechism twice as quickly as the other boys did. I asked my father if I could continue taking lessons in the God's Language, because I enjoyed learning that." 

"And he said no." It was a struggle at this point for Prosper to keep judgment of the father's actions out of his voice, but he succeeded. 

"He said that if I wanted to become a priest, he'd be glad to send me to your training school, but that a temporal boy doesn't need any more scribe-learning than is necessary to master the catechism." 

Prosper wrestled to hold several emotions in check, the foremost of which was the one raised by the realization that this boy knew who he was. Turning his attention to the demon of judgment, he waited until he had battled it back to a sufficient distance before saying, in a carefully neutral voice, "That may be true of most temporal boys, but I have known some who benefitted from further instruction. When I was young, a chieftain's son came to stay at the training school for a year. He had planned to become a priest, but he soon realized that his true vocation was to take up the work of his father. Even so, he often told me in later years that his year at the training school was the most valuable of his life, partly because of the discipline he learned while studying the ancient tongue." 

"Discipline?" said Orel, as though this were a word foreign to him. 

"Yes, because the ancient form of the God's Language is considerably more difficult than the modern form. The spelling, grammar, and especially the pronunciation make it a great challenge to any pupil. The purpose of studying the ancient tongue, you see, is not to be able to read ancient manuscripts, though that is a side benefit. The main benefit is to discipline the mind, which in turn leads to discipline of spirit." 

The boy looked as delighted as though Prosper had just offered him a bag full of sugar balls. "Do you think that Huard would teach me the ancient tongue if I asked?" 

"Perhaps." Prosper had been trying to make up his mind about several matters, the main question being whether he was likely to live to the dawn if the dark-eyed soldier discovered that a God-cursed man had been talking to his son. Then it occurred to him that this risk might be part of his new discipline. He said firmly, "I have more time to spare than Huard does. I would be glad to teach you the ancient tongue. With your father's permission," he added as the boy's face lit up. 

Orel's expression fell. After a moment he said, "My father has often said that I need more discipline." 

"I can imagine," replied Prosper dryly, letting his gaze run over the boy's crumpled clothes. "Your leisure time is in the early evening, I take it? Then, if your father gives you permission to attend lessons with me, come to Huard's hut after tomorrow's evening service, and we will begin. Arrive punctually," he added, with as much sternness as he could manage with his suddenly buoyant spirit. 

Orel, biting his lip as though his smile might spread too far if he failed to catch it back, began to dart away. Then he turned back suddenly, his gaze lowering to take in Prosper's stew-strewn clothing. After a moment, he reached out his hand and said hesitantly, "I have an extra sugar ball if you want it." 

The sugar ball in Orel's hand was mashed, sticky, and grimy with dirt. Prosper took it from him with the same wonder and gratitude that he would have reserved for an offering of the sacred flame.


	3. Chapter 3

The following evening found Prosper kneeling by the bank of the river, contemplating the swift current. 

The Black River, the tribal folk called it; it was named for the black rocks in the riverbed. On a day like this, when the river sparkled with sunshine, it was hard to think of it as black. The sun was still well above the horizon; the year was near midsummer, and dusk would not come until around the time of the evening meal. 

He had forgotten to try the image of the river during the evening service, he realized. His thoughts had been wholly upon the boy scuffing his toes in the front row of the sanctuary. Prosper had been trying to read into the boy's movements knowledge of his new pupil. Only halfway through the silence did the demon of fear attack him, and now he was struggling to keep it at bay. The father would impress upon Orel what sort of man his prospective tutor was. Yet surely if the boy came, there could be no question of him turning from Prosper in horror. 

He wondered why the prospect of these lessons had come to mean so much to him. It was easy enough to guess the answer, and he tried to focus his mind on ways to hide his eagerness from the boy. A pupil must never know whether his teacher enjoyed the teaching or hated it; a teacher's pleasure or pain was of no importance. 

It came to Prosper that if he had been thinking in this manner upon his arrival at the camp, it would never have occurred to him to dwell upon his own pain at the chieftain's rejection. It was a new thought. He put the revelation aside in his mind to discuss it with Huard when he next asked the priest's advice on matters of discipline. 

A soft step rustled through the grass nearby. Prosper rose and turned to see Orel standing next to Huard's doorway, looking hesitant. "It's all right," the boy said, before Prosper could ask. "I can take lessons from you." 

Prosper tried to ignore the rush of relief that surged through him. Orel appeared more shy than before; there seemed no doubt he had received instructions from his father on what dangers might arise from a God-cursed man. Given the father's sentiments, the boy was probably now convinced that he was about to be murdered or ravished. 

"You understand that I am under the curse?" Prosper said, trying to keep his voice level. 

Orel nodded. "I saw you arrive, the first day. And my mother told me to stay away from you." 

Prosper frowned. "Are you in the habit of disregarding your mother's warnings?" 

Orel looked down at the grass and began scuffing it with his toes. "Not usually. But a priest's orders come first, don't they? Huard taught us in catechism class that we should help those in need, even if we think they're the God's enemies. And if you teach me, you'll be doing a service to the God, won't you? And that will help drive the demons from you." 

Prosper reflected that Orel had learned his catechism well. "Very well," he said, trying to keep the joy out of his voice. "Since your father has overruled your mother, I'll overlook your initial disobedience to her. Come over here." 

Orel did so promptly, which was a good sign. Prosper, watching Orel's slouched posture as he walked, waited until Orel was standing beside him before he took the boy by the shoulders and said, "Stand up straight." 

Orel did so, looking up at Prosper with puzzlement. Prosper ran his hand through the boy's tousled hair. "Your hair is not combed," he observed. 

"No," said Orel, looking even more puzzled at this elementary observation. 

"Tomorrow, when you arrive for lessons, I expect your hair to be combed, your clothes to be neat, your shoes to be dust-free, your fingernails to be trimmed, and your face to be some color other than that disgusting grime-grey. Have a sugar ball." 

As he spoke, he stooped and retrieved from the riverbank the bag of sugar balls that he had saved from the previous night's meal. He had already decided that, since he was taking the boy away from the time that he would normally spend playing with other boys, it would be too great a sacrifice to require him to give up the evenings' sweet-sharing as well. Besides, Prosper had relearned by now the proper tribal manner by which to bind oneself to another person. 

The boy began to speak, then thought the better of it and was silent as he and Prosper made their way through the balls in the bag. Only once the bag was folded and put aside did Orel ask, "How does combing my hair help me to learn the ancient tongue?" 

"It is part of the discipline I am teaching you. If you are careless in matters concerning the body, you will become careless in matters concerning the mind. Why do you think it is that Huard is always so neat in his appearance? He did not look that way when he first arrived at my school, I can assure you." 

Orel considered this fact as he licked the sugar from his fingers; his face was caked with the white crystals. Prosper resisted an impulse to wipe the boy's mouth for him. Instead he said, "Now clean your hands and face, please." 

Orel stooped obediently and dipped his hands so briefly into the river that Prosper sighed and crouched down on the grassy bank beside him. "Wash them thoroughly," he said. "You will be touching valuable manuscripts." He doused his own hands in the water as demonstration. 

Orel, watching him, said, "Nobody can be so dirty that they need _that_ much washing." 

"The washing is not merely for the body but for the mind as well," Prosper told him. "Huard will no doubt have taught you the prayers to say before memorizing passages of the God's Law. Even manuscripts that deal with temporal matters require that sort of cleansing of the mind." 

Orel looked skeptical. Touching the boy's face to remind him of the dirt there, Prosper said, "Before Huard begins any service, he spends several minutes purifying himself, so that both his body and his spirit will be clean when he enters the sanctuary. The first time he entered the altar area, he had to undergo a day and night of full-body purification. The purification helped to still his spirit, so that he was ready to accept any message the God might send him when he was lighting the sacred flame. It is the same with those of us who are temporal: we must take a few minutes before beginning language lessons to still our minds, so that we can enter fully into what we are taught. As you grow older, you may find your own method for stilling your mind. Washing is the one I use." 

"Oh." Orel looked down at the water, leaping and tugging at the riverside plants, then plunged his head suddenly into the water. He emerged as wet as a fish, shaking his hair so that droplets spattered onto Prosper. 

Prosper fought to hold back his laughter. "I did not mean for you to wash yourself that thoroughly." 

Orel looked at him with surprise. "But you said that, the first time, Huard purified his whole body. I'd wash all of myself, but Huard said not to bathe here; the current is too strong. . . . Why are you smiling?" 

"Because Huard's predecessor gave me the same teaching when I was a boy. In fact, he gave a thundering lecture to me when he found me trying to venture into the water when I was six. He told me how my body would be pulled away from the tribal territory and end up buried under a rock, so that I would die unpurified by a priest. It was quite an effective lecture; I was terrified to go near the river for weeks after that." 

"Huard wasn't _that_ frightening. But in the catechism class, he did have us memorize the passage in the law against self-slaying, about how willful recklessness leading to death can be considered self-slaying. He didn't say anything about the river, but we were sitting on the riverbank that day, and he kept tossing branches into the water and watching them be sucked under by the current." 

Prosper reflected, not for the first time, that Huard's indirect methods of instilling discipline could be quite as effective as his own. He was tempted to hand Orel over to Huard for his language lessons. But the truth was – and Prosper again hoped that he was not engaging in vainglory in believing this – that none of the priests who had taught at Prosper's school over the years had ever been able to match him in his ability to impress upon boys the difficult spellings and vowel changes and grammatical forms and nightmarish pronunciations of the ancient tongue. True, the language was not an end in itself, but learning it properly was. 

The sunlight's slant had deepened, sending bright rays into Prosper's eyes. He winced, then helped Orel to his feet and led the way to Huard's hut. As they reached the doorway, Orel hesitated. He looked up at his teacher and said, "This is like when Huard goes behind the God-mask and lights the sacred flame, isn't it?" 

"It is." 

Orel made an attempt to press down the tangle of wet hair at the back of his head, then looked up again at Prosper. "Tomorrow I'll make sure my hair is combed," he said. 

Prosper did laugh then. Smoothing the boy's hair down with his hand, he guided him into the hut and into the back chamber, where the scrolls lay open, awaiting teacher and pupil. 

o—o—o

During his years at the training school, Prosper had sometimes visited the nearby military yard to watch the soldiers there do mock battle. He had no intrinsic interest in the skills of warfare, but as City Priest he had sometimes been asked by the priest who had care over the soldiers to intervene in important disciplinary cases. Over the years, Prosper had found that he could learn much about the spiritual state of temporal men and women by observing them at their work. Now, shoving aside all temptation to ascertain the spiritual state of the boys doing mock battle before him, Prosper set out to discern what could be told of the states of their minds. 

Dust scattered into the morning light as men and boys practiced their fighting skills in the small military yard of the Feasters. The two youngest boys of Orel's family were wrestling in a corner with each other, like mountain cubs at play. Orel's father had disappeared into the nearby armory with the tribe's smith, who had once flung a horseshoe at Prosper. Prosper barely noticed the father's departure, however. His gaze was upon a battle taking place near the tribe's stone pillar. 

The younger of the boys in the battle was of about age ten, two years short of his catechism lessons. He had already learned enough of the God's Language to be able to participate in the recital of names, for Prosper had heard him begin his recital during the brief interval that it took each day for Prosper to slide his way carefully out the side door of the sanctuary. The boy's pronunciation of the names was atrocious, but Prosper guessed, as he watched the battle, that this was due to a lack of gift for languages rather than due to a lack of concentration, for the younger boy was now so intent on his work that he squinted his eyes and flared his nostrils. 

The older boy was a different matter. His stance and position of blade were sloppy – even Prosper, uneducated in warfare, could tell as much. The older boy had a tendency to become distracted from the battle, though his occasional moments of clarity showed that he was by far the more skilled of the two boys in swordplay. The end result was that the younger boy was besting the older in two battles out of three. Prosper frowned. 

At that moment, the older boy caught sight of him and lost all interest in what he was doing. If the younger boy had not been as alert as he was, his blade would have cut into the older boy's arm. The older boy, quite unaware of this, turned his head and said something briefly to the younger boy. Clearly relieved to be rid of so lackadaisical an opponent, the younger boy turned away in search of a fresh partner. 

Now free of his younger brother, Orel came running forward, not bothering to sheathe his sword. As he reached Prosper, he asked breathlessly, "Did you wish to speak with me?" 

"Not especially. I am sorry to see that your lessons with me have been wasted." 

The shock on the boy's face was so sharp that Prosper's newly disciplined spirit immediately sent out a cry of warning. Quickly Prosper reached forward and laid a reassuring hand on Orel's shoulder. 

"I spoke with undue harshness," he said. "What I meant to say was that I wish you would put to use the training I have been giving you in discipline. You were not focussing your full mind on your work there." 

The boy was clearly startled at this criticism. After a moment, though, his face cleared and he boasted, "I was remembering the verb forms you had me memorize." 

"That won't do," replied Prosper, letting his hand fall. "If you're thinking of language lessons during swordplay, you'll soon be thinking of swordplay lessons during your time at language. Whatever you do – be it scribe-learning or battle preparation or a mundane task such as fetching water for the soldiers – you must give your whole mind to the task. Otherwise, your ill discipline in one aspect of life will affect your discipline in other aspects." 

"Oh." Orel's face brightened. "It's like combing my hair." 

Prosper nearly sent up a prayer to the God in thankfulness for being given such a bright pupil. He stopped himself in time, though, from breaking his discipline of worship. "Exactly so. Now seek out your brother again and see whether you can give as much concentration to your task as he was." 

"All right." But Orel did not seem inclined to move. He scuffed his toes on the ground for a moment before catching himself. Prosper, watching him dip his head shyly, was pleased to note that Orel was indeed keeping his hair combed and his appearance neat, even when at energetic battle work. Prosper had to resist an impulse to reach out and smooth down a bit of hair that had flown free as Orel ran toward him. 

Orel said, without looking up, "I was wondering . . . When you leave the service this evening, at the recital of names, could I come with you? I've finished my vocabulary memorization – not only the ones you asked me to memorize, but the rest of the words as well. I can recite all of the ancient words now." 

"Not all of them," said Prosper. "There remains one word which neither you nor I are permitted to speak. You may hear it at the worship service, if you give your full attention to it." 

Orel looked up then. Prosper was pleased to see that the boy seemed properly abashed. Placing his hand once more on Orel's shoulder, Prosper said gently, "No, you may not neglect your worship discipline in favor of your lessons, but I will look forward to hearing your recital tonight. —See, your father is searching for you." 

Orel looked over his shoulder at the same moment that his father, emerging from the armory, caught sight of the boy. The father frowned and took a step forward, only to be distracted at that moment by his two youngest sons, who came tumbling over and clung to his legs, like puppies seeking to be petted. Orel, seeing that he had been granted a moment's reprieve, looked back at Prosper and said quickly, "When you become a priest again, may I come to one of your services and listen to you say the sacred word?" 

"Perhaps," Prosper replied non-committally. "Go now; your father looks as though he wishes to slice me open with his blade for interrupting your swordplay." 

He spoke lightly, but the words were no exaggeration. Prosper was becoming alarmed by the look that Orel's father was giving him as the soldier sought to free himself from the embrace of his affectionate sons. Orel turned and ran to his father. As he did so, the father spoke sharply to him, in words that were lost amidst the tumult of the military yard, but which clearly chastened the boy. 

Prosper decided that it would be politic to remove himself at this point, and he swiftly stepped behind the stone pillar. After a moment, however, he could not resist the impulse to look back at the military yard to see how matters were going between father and son. He found that the man and boy were now on the point of doing sword-battle against each other. Orel's eyes were narrow with concentration, and his sword was in the proper position for preparation. 

Prosper felt something brush his arm. He turned to see that Huard was also watching the military yard. The priest, Prosper decided, must have had a particularly difficult struggle to keep discipline during the mid-morning meal-hostings, for he was sipping at a cup of water, as he was wont to do at moments of greatest stress. 

Huard said nothing about this, though, remarking only, "A few years ago, I asked Iolo to teach me swordplay. I thought that the exercise would keep my body slender and that it would be good for me to know inwardly some of the duties of temporal men." 

"Were you an apt pupil?" Prosper asked. 

Huard smiled. "After the first lesson, Iolo told me that some men were meant to be temporal and some men were meant to be spiritual, and that I should stick with the discipline that suited my spirit best." 

Prosper laughed. He found it easy to do so these days; the lesson time with Orel had lifted his spirits to a degree that he could not have imagined earlier in the summer. Turning his gaze back to the military yard where the man and boy were continuing to clash swords against each other, Prosper said, "There was a time when I would have thrown scorn upon you for spending your energy in temporal activities, but the truth is, Huard, it now seems a shame to me that temporal boys such as Orel do not normally receive the benefits of scribe-learning to the extent that priest-pupils do. If I had been aware of this fact in past years, I would have encouraged more temporal boys to spend time at the training school." 

Huard shook his head. "I fear that would be like sending a hunting-boy to learn spear-throwing from a soldier. The hunting-boy is likely to learn much about how to kill an enemy on the field, but he will be left with no notion of how to kill a mountain cat. . . . I agree with you about the need to offer more learning to temporal boys, and I am sorry that I do not have the time to give such training myself. I suspect, though, that it is just as well. I think that such a task should be left to a temporal man, who knows from his own experience what aspects of scribe-learning are needful for a temporal life." 

"Perhaps Orel will become such a man," Prosper murmured, his gaze still focussed upon the boy. "As for disciplines that suit one's spirit, I find that my present discipline fits me very well. I trust that you agree." 

The priest was slow in replying. He took several sips of water before saying, "It was a risk, you know, for me to give you permission to resume teaching." 

"Yes, I realize that, and I am grateful," said Prosper, his gaze still upon Orel and his father. "My demon of judgment had centered its destruction upon the priest-pupils whom I taught. I had fears myself that it might gain stronger hold over me when I began teaching Orel. As it is . . . It is hard to describe the difference, Huard. In the old days, if a priest-pupil took half the time that I would in memorizing a vocabulary list, I would say to myself, 'This boy lacks discipline of mind; therefore it is likely that he lacks spiritual discipline.' And I would go searching for flaws in his spiritual state so that I could chastise him for them. I can see quite clearly now how my native demon worked. Yet when Orel was slow this week in memorizing his vocabulary, I thought only to myself, 'This boy lacks discipline of mind. Perhaps it would be best to start him on the verb forms.' And I set aside all concerns as to whether Orel was drawing closer to the God through his work. I didn't even try to compare Orel's progress with my own when I was his age." 

"I am glad to hear that," said Huard. "I had hoped that it might be that way for you. Some men who are tempted toward demonic judgment in spiritual matters find it far easier to resist such temptation in temporal matters." 

"Oh, I will have to rid myself of my demon of judgment as far as spiritual matters are concerned as well, of course. That is necessary before I reapply for the priesthood." Prosper's mind was only half on what he was saying. He was waiting in suspense as Orel's father turned his sword in such a manner that Prosper was convinced – in one heart-clenching moment – that the boy's sword-arm would be severed. Instead, Orel's father neatly disarmed the boy. Orel, with that look of eager curiosity which Prosper had begun to know well, began to pour out what Prosper guessed were questions about how his father had achieved the disarming. 

Beside him, Huard said, "You are certainly focussing a great deal of attention on your lessons with Orel." 

"Yes," said Prosper with a smile. Then something about Huard's voice reached him, and he turned to look at the priest. Huard was not looking his way, but he was sipping from his cup as though his life depended on it. 

"Huard," Prosper said, "do you have any advice to give me concerning my lessons with Orel?" 

The priest lowered his cup. He said, "I remember clearly the speech you once gave to all of us priest-pupils in my time. It was when we were discussing the law on marriage. You said that even a man entering into purified love with his wife must never forget the God. If he did, his lovemaking would become demonic." 

Prosper said slowly, "I have a faint memory of that lecture, but I'm not sure how it's applicable here." 

"You went on to say that it was even more important for those of us whose work required us to care for a number of people – priests and chieftains and commanders – never to become too absorbed in one person, for dire consequences could result." 

"Too absorbed?" Prosper frowned. "Huard, I only spend two hours of the day with Orel—" 

"—and spend much of the remainder of the day preparing for his lessons or wandering over to this yard to watch him at his duties." 

Prosper found that he was having to turn aside a prickly desire to become angry. "Huard, you've taught catechism classes; you know how much work it takes to prepare for them. As for unfortunate consequences—" 

"'Dire' is the word you used when you taught me. You cited the example of a priest who, spending all of his time taking the confessions of one woman under his care, found himself unable to resist the demon of impure love when it came in temptation. You said that such a man had to be burned. . . . You are shaking your head." 

"Not at your advice," Prosper said quickly. "I am simply saddened that other priests have been burdened with temptations that I have been spared. In all my years as priest, I've never been troubled by lustful desires. I suppose I owe that fact to the good fortune of having taken my vows of service to the God at an early age, before desires normally arise. Still," he added thoughtfully, "I see what you are saying: you are concerned that I am spending time with Orel as a way to become intimate with his mother. Huard, I assure you, I've had no contact with either of Orel's parents since the teaching began. Indeed, I have been feeling guilt over that fact. I really ought to have visited them before now, to let them know how their son is progressing." 

Huard sighed. He still had not looked Prosper's way. "Prosper, I truly do not know which demon will decide to take advantage of your new duties to attack you in a way that you do not expect. I do remember, though, that you once told me that the surest way to know of a change in a person's spiritual condition is to note any changes in his regular routine." 

"Yes?" said Prosper and waited, but the priest did not speak further. After a moment, Prosper realized that, under the God's Law, Huard was not permitted to speak further. 

Hearing the first faint fanfare of fear, Prosper put his mind to the task of discerning what warning Huard was giving him. It did not take him long. "I have broken my discipline of silence," he said slowly. "Huard, I am sorry. There were times when, as a priest, I cut back on my worship discipline in order to devote more time to my lessons with my priest-pupils. I should have realized that it would be dangerous to my spirit if I did so during my year of exile. The truth is, though," he added, his mouth taking on a rueful smile, "that it is easier to listen to someone who speaks to you." 

Huard did not smile in return. "Do not forget that the God is speaking to you continuously, Prosper, even during your exile; you have simply closed yourself to his voice. You will be able to hear him if you listen carefully." 

"Our fellow living spirits are voices for the God as well," Prosper reminded him. 

"Certainly, and I have been pleased by how far your discipline has carried you in enabling you to listen carefully to Orel's needs. Do not forget the God's needs, though. Remember the husband and his demonic lovemaking." 

Prosper shook his head. "I understand now what you're telling me, Huard. I should never have allowed my discipline of reaching out to Orel in his need to interfere with my worship discipline. I will return to my discipline of silence immediately. As for the time I spend with Orel—" 

He stopped abruptly; out of the corner of his eye, he had seen a flash of light, accompanied by a cry. He turned in time to see the sword that Orel's father had been wielding spin to the ground, blown aside by Orel's successful completion of the maneuver that his father had just taught him. For a moment, father and son alike looked stunned. Then Orel gave a whoop of delight and dropped his sword, rushing into his father's awaiting arms. 

Huard's voice said, "I am going now to Iolo's hut. He wounded his arm while hunting yesterday. Will you come with me and help me apply the healing herbs?" 

"Yes, certainly," said Prosper. He was smiling, watching the boy joyfully embrace his father, and he was thinking that this would mean he must change his lesson plans again. When discipline was rewarded by the acquisition of new skills, that was the right time in which to undertake harder disciplines which might daunt the pupil if introduced at times of discouragement. Tonight, he thought, he would set Orel to the difficult task of beginning to learn the ancient pronunciation, a task that had caused more than one of Prosper's pupils to beg to be released from his training as a priest. Somehow, Prosper doubted that Orel would seek to be released from his temporal lessons. Prosper's smile deepened. 

He did not hear the priest leave. Nor did he see Huard's frown.


	4. Chapter 4

"Again," said Prosper. 

He and Orel were seated in the corner of Huard's inner chamber, settled upon seat cushions with the scroll unrolled on a low table before them. It was a position that Prosper would once have thought far too indulgent for proper discipline in scribe-training, but with his newly heightened awareness of what his pupil needed, he had realized that the boy associated seat-cushions with the years he had spent sitting on the ground, watching his father demonstrate proper battle maneuvers. Thus Orel was far more alert while sitting upon cushions than he was when seated at the table. 

"I don't understand why it matters whether I pronounce it correctly," complained the boy. "Nobody speaks the ancient tongue any more." 

"It matters because, if you are to do a task, you should do it as well as you can, rather than willfully adopt errors. At sword-play, would you teach yourself to disarm an opponent, but neglect to teach yourself to kill him, just because killing him was more difficult?" 

"But I can't _say_ it!" 

"You can. Try again." 

Orel leaned forward over the scroll, his hair touching the soft fuzz beginning to appear on his cheek, which was otherwise as smooth as a maiden's. He bit his lip, which was the color of winter berries, and then said aloud, "'The ancient lands were destroyed by the demons, but the Mercy above all mercies will assist us to destroy our demons before they destroy us. In order to receive the God's assistance, we must kiet our minds—" 

"No. Try again." 

Orel sighed and leaned back against the wall, his shoulder brushing against his tutor's shoulder. "Sir, it's so late – I'm already missing the evening meal, and Father will wonder why I'm late tonight. He may come looking for me." 

"Let him come. I will tell him that he had best give up training you in swordplay, because you do not have the strength to hold a sword when you are weary." 

Orel groaned and leaned forward again. "'In order to receive the God's assistance, you must kiet—" 

"No. You are not listening. 'Quiet,' not kiet." 

"I'm trying!" The boy's voice was strained. "I hear what you say, and I try to say it, but my mouth won't speak the word properly." 

"That is because you are trying to speak the word through your own effort. Listen to the meaning of the passage, not just the letters. 'You must quiet your mind and receive the God's training in silence.' Quiet your mind; do not attempt to think about what you are doing. Simply listen to the word I say, and repeat it. Quiet." 

"Kiet." 

"Quiet." 

"Kiet." 

"Listen. Quiet." 

"K-kwiet." 

"Very close. Now try it in the sentence. Do not think; merely still your mind. 'To receive the God's assistance—'" 

"'You must kiet your—' Oh, Prosper, I can't _do_ it." 

"Very well." Prosper's voice turned cold. "If you cannot do it, then there is no need for me to train you further. We have reached your limits. Leave now." 

Orel had been sagging back against the wall, his eyes closed. Now he jerked upright and stared at Prosper with wide eyes. "You can't send me away," he whispered. "I'm making such progress. You said so yourself." 

"You are not here to learn a language; you are here to learn discipline. If you have no discipline – if you are unwilling to strain beyond the limits you believe that you have, are unwilling to hold that sword for a minute longer than your body bids you to hold it – then you are of no use on the field of battle against demons. What sort of soldier, when battle-weary and torn with wounds, drops his sword and tells the comrades he was defending, 'I'm too tired. I've missed my supper. I can't do this, so I must leave you to die'?" 

The boy's face was white. In the silence that followed, Prosper entered into his own silence, listening, as Huard had trained him to do, for the warning he would receive that he was being too harsh with the boy. 

The warning came. Proper slid his arm over the boy's shoulders and said gently, "You are a very fine pupil indeed – I would not press you so hard if I did not believe that you are able to go beyond the limits that most boys would have reached by this time. There is a reason that I am pressing you now, when you are so tired. You must trust me in this matter." 

Some of the color returned to Orel's face, and Prosper had a moment to reflect that Huard, quite unintentionally, had given training to his exiled guest which was enabling Prosper to be a better teacher than he had been for many years. Then the boy closed his eyes, let out his breath slowly, and said, with a voice clear and bright, like that of a sword moving in a beautiful arc, "'The ancient lands were destroyed by the demons, but the Mercy above all mercies will assist us to destroy our demons before they destroy us. In order to receive the God's assistance, we must quiet our minds—' Prosper, I did it!" His face alight, Orel flung his arms around his teacher. 

Prosper smiled as he enfolded the boy's warm body into his embrace. "It happens that way sometimes, when the body and mind are weary. We have no strength then for any thoughts or fears, and so the God is able to enter into us at such moments and take us beyond what we can normally achieve." 

"And that's why you wanted me to stay late. I'm sorry; I should have trusted you." The boy pulled back just enough to lean his head against Prosper's shoulder. Prosper kept his arm around the boy as he smiled in the dim light of the autumn evening. He had often thought that men not trained as priests, who received their chief pleasures from the body, must feel this way when they lay in love with their wives: the exultation at the end of an act of love, driving out all thoughts except for that of the beloved. Or so Prosper had been told by men who spoke to him in confession, seeking reassurance that it was normal at such times to lose thought even of the God. For truly, Prosper thought, training a pupil is an act of love, and as much a service to the God as a married man's act of purified love with his wife. 

Bad training, on the other hand – he followed further this path of thought – was like impure lusts, when a man slept with a woman without seeking to purify his act through a priest's blessing. Selfish training, where the teacher cared more for his own self-importance than for the progress of the pupil, was far worse: it was like twisted lust, a terrible parody of purified love. Such twistedness in teaching, Prosper was coming to recognize, had begun to destroy even that which was at the center of his vocation as a priest: his ability to train priest-pupils. It would have destroyed his abilities as a teacher in the end if he had not been fortunate enough to be placed under the curse. 

Smiling at this paradoxical thought, Prosper said, "You have done very well indeed during the past three months. It is time that your father saw how you have progressed. I'll go home with you tonight, both to apologize for your lateness and also to show your father—" 

"No!" 

The boy's cry was so deep that Prosper felt the reverberation of it through Orel's body, which was pressed against his. Prosper tried to turn his head to look at Orel's face, but the boy had his face pressed against Prosper's shoulder. 

Orel said, "No, you shouldn't bother him; he's very busy at the moment. I think it would be best to wait until you've finished training me. That way he can see the complete results—" 

"Orel," Prosper said, and at that single word, the boy fell silent. Faintly through the window where dusk was drawing its shade upon the world came the sound of feasting, but Prosper scarcely noticed it. His mind was on the boy snuggled against him. 

He said slowly, "You came to me the evening that you were to ask your father's permission to train with me. You told me that evening that you could train with me. But you did not tell me: Did your father grant you permission to do this?" 

Orel was silent a moment. Prosper could feel the warmth of his breath making its way through Prosper's shirt. Then the boy burst out, "He wouldn't understand! If I'd told him, he would never have let me come, and he'd have been watching me to ensure I didn't come near you. It didn't do any harm to tell him Huard was giving me extra catechism lessons—" 

"Orel." Prosper's voice was hard this time. There was an aching arising in him that he could not fully understand, but he dared not give thought to it – his thoughts must be on the boy at this moment. "You are speaking as a child. Where is the discipline that you have received in these lessons? Remain silent a moment, then reply to me as you would if explaining why you had not completed a lesson I had given you." 

The pause lasted a long while. When he finally spoke again, the boy did so in a low voice. "Sir, I apologize. It was wrong of me to lie to my father, and it was wrong of me to have let you think that my father had given me permission for training. I not only endangered my own spirit through such an act; I also brought danger upon you and Huard, for my father might have thought that both of you had conspired to help me in this deception." 

"Good. That is well spoken." Prosper was having a difficult time keeping his voice level, and he was beginning to think that it might be important to understand why. If only he were granted a moment for silence . . . "You know what you must do now?" 

"I must tell my father and ask his pardon. I must follow his command, whatever it may be. Oh, but Prosper, I _can't_! He'll tell me that I must never see you again!" 

Orel's face, as he raised it from Prosper's shoulder, was as white as a demon's. He was biting his berry-red lip in an attempt to keep his chin from trembling. Prosper felt the words the boy had spoken resound through his own body as though he himself had spoken them. It was becoming more urgent to understand why the boy's anguish was communicating itself so deeply to him, the teacher. 

He knew, of course, what he was witnessing. No teacher of five years, much less thirty-five years, could have missed the signs. It happened sometimes with the more sensitive pupils: an early awakening of love, too early to take the form of desire, whether pure or impure. It was simply the knowledge that another person in the world was of such high importance that the person deserved to receive the sort of worship that would normally be offered up only to the God. 

The priests were divided on how such childish loving should be regarded. Some priests, such as Martin, saw it as a godly sign that the boy was developing impulses toward love that would, in the normal course of time, eventually develop into the love a young man holds for the woman he is to marry. During his years of priesthood, Prosper had always taken the opposing view: he believed that children's love could easily lead to impure love, or even – since it was often directed by a boy toward his male teacher – to the horrors of twisted lust. Thus Prosper had always taken pains, whenever he noticed such love developing in a pupil toward him, to discourage it with severity. 

And yet he felt no such impulse now – indeed, he felt quite the opposite desire. Was this a godly sign, or was some demon working within him that he had not yet known? Bewildered, Prosper tried to pull himself back from Orel as he said, "Your coming-of-age rite is in the spring; you would have had to have ended your lessons with me then in any case. Perhaps your father will allow you to study the ancient tongue under Huard until that time—" 

"But I want _you_!" Orel flung his arms around Prosper, almost strangling him in his embrace. Muffled by Prosper's shirt, he said, "I love you. I love you." 

Orel's head was brushing against Prosper's face. He thought to himself that he should at least give the boy a light kiss on the head to indicate that affection between a teacher and his pupil was a natural and indeed a godly thing. And if the boy lifted his face then, perhaps it would do no ill to kiss him on the forehead as well, for surely the boy seemed to require such comfort, trembling as he now was in Prosper's arms. And if kissed on the forehead, the boy would come to no harm if he were kissed on the lips— 

It was then that Prosper saw his hidden demon and named it for what it was. 

"No!" Prosper jerked himself out of the boy's grasp and rose, stumbling backwards. The suddenness of this rising caused the chamber to swim in his vision. He saw a demon-white boy, and near him a single candle lit against the coming dark. 

"What's wrong?" Orel jumped to his feet and came over to hold Prosper's arm. "Are you ill?" 

"Don't touch me," Prosper begged in a hoarse voice. He staggered backwards and found himself trapped by the bed behind him. 

"Why not? Sir, you _are_ ill; let me help you to bed—" 

_"No!"_

The cry stopped Orel short, as he was reaching out to touch Prosper again. For a moment the boy remained motionless; then his face changed. 

"Oh, no," he said. "Oh, sir, I didn't mean that. When I said I loved you— I don't love you like that, sir, truly I don't!" 

He put out his hand tentatively, as though testing the edge of a blade, and as his hand fell onto Prosper's bare arm, Prosper released a groan. The desire was clawing at him now; he could feel the stiff ache of his need. With a wordless cry of revulsion, Prosper shoved aside the bed and staggered toward the door. 

"Sir, truly I'm not twisted – truly! . . . Am I?" The final words of the boy's plaintive plea echoed in Prosper's mind as he stumbled out into the coolness of the dying day. 

o—o—o

An hour later, Prosper was trying to remember the lessons he had given to priest-pupils about how to kneel on the bare floor for hours without feeling pain. 

"Give all the chambers of your mind over to the God," he had told them. "You will find that you have no chamber left for thoughts of bodily discomfort." 

Easy enough to say to a healthy young boy, his mind and body at an age when they are biddable to instruction. But Prosper – fifty-seven years old, with a mind cursed with demons and filled with prayers that he was forbidden to speak – was finding it impossible to ignore the pain shooting through his knees or the trembling of his weary legs. He closed his eyes and tried to still his thoughts, but with no success. 

The sanctuary was dark but for the flicker of prayer-lights. Tomorrow morning, Huard would randomly select one of the candles, bracket it into his purification lamp, and use it to purify any individuals who had need of it. Then it would be taken to the altar area, where it would be used to light the sacred flame and afterwards to purify the worshippers as a whole. At the end of the service, the prayer-light would be quenched, a visible sign to the worshippers that the Unknowable God had answered a prayer. 

Prosper wondered whether the prayer-light he had lit the hour before would be the one Huard selected tomorrow. His increasing fear was that the single prayer he had been pouring forth to the God would not be answered. 

He heard the creak of the main sanctuary doors, then a footstep, and then, through his closed eyelids, he saw the glow of a lamp. There was a click as the lamp was set upon the gift-offering table nearby. A footstep fell beside him. 

Taking a deep breath, Prosper said without opening his eyes, "Huard, I do not know whether the God's Law permits this, but if it does, I ask you to burn me tonight. I now know that the demons are too strong for me, and I dare not allow myself to live any longer, lest I cause greater destruction." 

"Why do you believe that the demons are too strong?" 

Huard's voice was colder than Prosper had ever known it. Prosper opened his eyes to see his former pupil standing in front of him, his face as hard as winter ice. 

"You know why," Prosper whispered. "You tried to warn me – the God help me, I treated your warning lightly, as I treated all the warnings that Martin gave me during his years of disciplining me. And yet I should have known. . . . I should have known. I have burned so many men and women over the years for twistedness – have heard the horrors of their witness, have given them the only hope remaining to them, the fire of purification." 

"Is fire the only answer?" Huard's voice remained cold. 

"I don't know." Prosper hid his face in his hands, trying to gather his twirling thoughts into one place so that he could make sense of his reasoning. "Perhaps not; perhaps I was too harsh in my judgment of them. If so, I know why. All these years I have been twisted, feeling secret and demonic lusts for the pupils I tutored. No wonder I judged other men and women too harshly, whether for twistedness or for other crimes against the God. I would not face the fact that I was a greater horror than any of the living spirits I judged." 

He raised his face. This time it was difficult to see the priest, for Prosper's eyes were darkened by tears. "The fire," Prosper whispered. "Please. It is the only hope I have left." 

"No fire," said Huard. "Prosper, you must listen to me—" 

He stopped; Prosper had stumbled to his feet and was backing into the dark corner, his chest heaving from the shock. "No," whispered Prosper. "No fire. You are right, of course. I have been avoiding that knowledge as well – have been avoiding it ever since my first day here. Purification is too great a mercy for me, even by fire. For one such as myself, who has allowed demons so great to use me for destruction, there can be no mercy. It must be an unpurified death. I must dwell eternally in the God's burning flames." 

"Prosper, be silent a moment and listen to me—" 

"It is all right," said Prosper, his voice beginning to turn to sobs. "I will not seek an unpurified death at the hands of others. I see that would be wrong – to require them to take the guilt of my death upon themselves. I will burn unpurified in any case; it makes no difference. If I cannot serve the God in any other way, I can at least rid this world of my repulsive, monstrous, twisted self—" 

As he spoke, Prosper began to edge his way toward the side door, his feet sliding along the stones smoothly as though led by an inner force. Already, Prosper's mind was reaching ahead. The armory was closed for the night. He could use one of Huard's meat-knives, but that would entangle the priest in his death. The river, then; there was an appropriateness to that choice. On a moonless night like this, it would not take long for the dark current to bring his end. 

"Corrupt," he heard his voice choke out. "Wholly corrupt, unworthy of purification. How could I return to the priesthood with these demons inside me? I should not even be polluting this sanctuary. I must go to where the unquenchable fire awaits me—" 

_"Mystery."_

The whisper cut through Prosper's words like a shout. On the point of racing from the sanctuary, Prosper felt his body jerked back by the sacred word as though he were on a leash. For a breathless moment, he stood in balance, feeling the demons tug at him. Then long custom took hold of him, and he fell to his knees. 

He heard footsteps softly approach him. Then Huard whispered once more, as though afraid that Prosper had not heard him properly the first time, _"Mystery."_

_Mystery._ He had not been listening during this past hour, as his discipline demanded; he had only been talking to the God. Yet how could he listen now? The God would not speak to such as him— 

_Mystery._ He had allowed himself to speak again; he must stop speaking his thoughts and remain silent. He tried, but felt images of what had happened between himself and Orel begin to crowd into his mind. He gave an involuntary whimper. 

"Listen." Huard's voice was soft as he touched Prosper's bowed head. 

Prosper tried again. He could feel the weariness now, the pain beginning to shoot like blades through his legs, the trembling that made him feel that he could not remain as he was for a moment longer. 

"I'm tired," he whispered. 

"You are allowing yourself to think; remain silent. Listen again." 

He tried. He could hear the soft crackle of the prayer-lights; he could imagine the one he had lit being brought forward to the altar, where it would be used to light the sacred flame— 

The sacred flame. Purification to the God's beloved folk, torture to his enemies. The God's fire would burn him for eternity; the pain he felt then would be immense in comparison to what he felt now, shaking and sweating— 

"You are not listening. Try again." 

"I can't. I _can't_!" 

"You can; still your mind. Empty it of all thoughts. Await the Mystery." 

His eyes were still closed. He could see only darkness. Darkness . . . that was what he sought. Not the flame, the visible sign of the God, but the darkness that represented that which was unknowable. No knowledge he held of the God could save him now; only that which was not known to him, the Mercy of all mercies that lay in the darkness beyond man's knowledge. . . . 

The darkness was silent. He let the silence take him in, like a current leading him into a river to drown. He did not resist it. Perhaps, then, this was the God's mercy: the Mystery would take him into the unquenchable fire, so that he might feel the Mystery's peace in the moment before his pain began, never to end. 

He was thinking again; he could feel the thoughts dragging him back toward the shore. With a sigh, he released his hold on himself, and on his life, as he awaited the God's response. 

When he opened his eyes, he saw only darkness, and he could feel his body falling. Falling, and falling.


	5. Chapter 5

He awoke to the sound of fire. It crackled close by his head, and it took him a moment to garner the courage to open his eyes in order to see what it would be like, this fire that would be with him for eternity. 

He found himself lying in a bed. Next to him flickered a prayer-light, quite ordinary in appearance. Then Prosper turned his head and realized where he was. 

Huard, seeing his movement, turned away from the basin where he had been wringing out a rag. He walked over and placed the rag upon Prosper's head. The coolness washed over Prosper as if he had been dipped in a river. 

As though no pause had taken place in their conversation, Huard asked, "Did the God speak to you?" 

Prosper stared at Huard for a moment; then his breath caught in his throat. "Yes," he whispered, feeling wonder tremble through his body as he remembered. "He told me not to fear. He told me that he loved me." Prosper stared a moment longer at the priest, then turned his gaze toward the prayer-light near his head. He said softly, "How can the God love one such as myself?" 

"Are you ready to listen to the answer?" Huard's voice was no longer hard, merely inquisitive. 

Prosper looked back at the priest. His own body seemed light, as though it could have lifted into the air had not the blankets been holding him down. He felt more like a God-loving spirit than a temporal creature. "Yes," he said, "I am ready to listen." 

"Prosper, you are not twisted." 

Prosper tried to understand this, failed, and gave up the struggle to master the matter without further instruction. "I am not twisted," he agreed, like a pupil reciting a text he is not yet mature enough to understand. 

Huard smiled. He nudged Prosper over in the bed and then sat down next to him, his large body pressing against Prosper's. Prosper lay where he was, feeling Huard's hip against his own, feeling too Huard's palm as the priest laid his hand upon Prosper's. The priest said nothing, and after a moment it occurred to Prosper to wonder why, if he had lusted after all of his priest-pupils, he had not noticed any desire for Huard during these weeks of close living – did not feel any desire even now whilst Huard's body was so close to his. 

He said slowly, "I had not felt twisted desires before tonight, had I?" 

"It may be that you felt them momentarily," Huard responded in a matter-of-fact tone. "Prosper, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry when you told me that you had never felt lustful desires during your time as a priest. If that had been true, you would have been a bodiless spirit rather than a living creature. More likely you felt momentary desires, either for your pupils or for other priests or for the temporal women and men to whom you served as confessor. But you were so convinced that a godly person like you could not feel such desires that you thrust the knowledge from your mind. It was part of the demonism in you – not the brief desires, which are a normal occurrence, especially in times of hardship such as you are undergoing at present. The demonism came from believing that you were immune from the temptations that normal men experience. Do you remember the first words you spoke to me when I came to your training school?" 

"Yes," said Prosper, again speaking slowly, for his mind seemed to be gradually rising out of darkness. "I speak it to all of my priest-pupils. 'You must not believe that you are in any way superior to the men and women whom you will serve for the God, for you are filled with as many demon-temptations as they are.'" 

"Some teachers," said Huard, still holding Prosper's hand, "are better teachers than they are pupils. They speak words of wisdom that they themselves do not heed – or so a teacher once told me." He smiled. 

"Then the fact that I recognized my desire for Orel—" 

"Is a sign of returning godliness, rather than the opposite. Yes." Huard reached forward and pulled the cloth from Prosper's forehead. "Mind you, the fault in what happened tonight is as much mine as yours. I knew that it was likely that your awakening awareness of the evil impulses within you would cause you to confront demons that you had not previously recognized, though they had always pulled at you. If you had had true twistedness – a lifelong desire to lie with men or boys – then I would certainly have addressed the matter through your discipline before this, and would have trained you to turn your desires toward women or toward celibacy, whichever the case seemed to merit. Cursing twisted persons is almost never necessary, I have found. But precisely because I knew that you had no more twisted desires than the normal man does, I didn't think to forewarn you about how to react when you were tempted to act on erotic desires whose action would cause you to break the God's Law. It is easy enough to discipline oneself in such matters, if you are prepared beforehand." 

"Yes," said Prosper. "I taught you that as well." He gave a sigh as he wiped the dampness from his forehead. "What a fool I was to think that I could live without the demon-temptations of an ordinary man. I had convinced myself that I had only two choices: to live a life as demon-free as the God's life or to be demon-filled beyond saving. And that allowed my native demon a new way to attack me: I cast judgment upon myself tonight, rather than trust you and the Unknowable God to care for my spirit." He looked up at Huard, his gaze now steady upon the priest's. "I'll never be entirely free of my demon of judgment, will I?" 

"No more than I will ever be entirely free of my native demon," his teacher replied. "Though I am no longer the prisoner of gluttony, I must do battle with it for the rest of my life." Then, seeing Prosper's forehead crease, he added quietly, "You have the strength to do battle with your demons, Prosper. Believe that when I say it now, as you would not have believed it if I had told you earlier. You had to come by that knowledge yourself, in a moment when it seemed you could go no further—" 

"And I felt myself too tired to go on." Prosper gave a short laugh as he raised himself into a sitting position on the bed. The lightness had gone, but the weariness he felt now was like the weariness he always felt at the end of a long and profitable lesson with a pupil: the weariness of shining success. 

Huard, who had been smiling, turned suddenly sober in expression. He cocked his head at his former teacher and said, "One question you have not asked me which you should have asked when I entered the sanctuary – should have asked before you ever fled from this chamber." 

The pain, coming as it did at a time when he was so open to new sensations, cut into Prosper like the blade of a new sword, but he did not allow himself to flinch. "Orel," he said in a hushed voice. "Is he hurt?" 

"He was greatly troubled when he found me, but I was able to calm him. I explained to him that you were afflicted by a demon of fear that came upon you in moments of heightened emotion, such as you had undoubtedly felt upon learning of Orel's affection for you. I assured Orel that your fear in no way arose from a belief that he was twisted." 

"A demon of fear," said Prosper softly. "Yes, you warned me against that as well, just as I have warned pupils over the years not to allow fear to overcome their battles with learning. If I had only listened to the advice I gave to you and my other pupils, I would have known that fleeing this chamber was the worst possible action I could take – it leads to greater demons entering into one, such as—" He hesitated. 

"Such as the temptation to commit the crime of slaying oneself," said Huard solemnly. "I trust that you realize now what a grave crime you were about to commit – not only against the God, who gave you the body that you were about to desecrate, but also against Orel, who would surely have blamed himself for your death, no matter what I told him." 

"Yes," whispered Prosper, and was silent for a long while afterwards. 

The priest's door was open to the evening. Prosper could hear the chatter of the tribe's men, women, and children as they passed nearby, on their way to the midnight service. Huard, hearing the same noise, rose and began to disgown in preparation for placing the black robe of the Mystery upon himself. 

Prosper settled back into the cushions of the soft bed. The silence that was upon him now seemed too precious to break by attending the service and listening to words. He could not help thinking, though, of the boys whose voices he had heard amidst the crowd. "Huard," he said, "you told me once that I had a gift for teaching." 

"You are the best teacher I have ever had the honor to meet," Huard replied quietly. "I know that my judgment on this is shared by others. If you don't trust me, ask one of your priest-pupils when you return to your training school." 

"I will not be returning to the training school." Prosper's voice seemed to echo through the stillness of the chamber. He felt oddly calm as he raised his gaze to be level with Huard's. "I can never be a priest again. I see that now." 

o—o—o

The morning sun rippled sparks of light upon the river passing Huard's doorway. Huard leaned forward and splashed the coolness of the water upon his face, drying away the sweat of the morning. A breeze teased at his hair, cooling the water further. 

An arm touched his as Prosper bent forward and joined him, splashing water into his eyes to take away the dryness of the night. Huard smiled at him, saying, "I was beginning to wonder whether you would sleep through the noonday service." 

"The rest did me good." Prosper leaned back, staring up at the branches against the sky, wondering why he had never noticed the beauty of their interlacing curves, like a fine scribe's hand in a manuscript. "Was that Orel's father whose voice woke me?" 

Huard nodded. "Orel told him last night that you had been training him. Botolf was much bewildered – he said that what Orel told him made no sense, for during the past three months the boy's swordsmanship had improved fourfold. Botolf was sure that the godliness Orel had received from learning his catechism was the cause. Botolf was even more bewildered when I explained to him that your training was the cause of his son's increased discipline." The plump priest sat back on his haunches, looking for all the world like a tamed wolf sitting contentedly beside a hearthfire. "Botolf tells me that he wishes Orel's brothers to attend your school for temporal boys when it is opened next spring." 

Prosper was still a moment, feeling the cool breeze tickle his face. Then he suddenly ducked his head and plunged it into the water. 

He surfaced shaking his hair as a wolf-dog shakes his fur after a bath, sending water splattering onto Huard. The priest laughed. "You look like a boy." 

"I feel like a boy. Like a thirteen-year-old boy. Do you understand why?" Smiling, Prosper turned his head toward the priest. 

"Indeed," Huard replied. "A new beginning." The priest lifted his head, scenting the air, then said, "Botolf left us a gift-offering for our trouble. Shall we indulge our stomachs in a most unpriestly fashion?" 

Laughing, Prosper helped Huard to rise from the sun-bright grass. They passed back into the coolness of the hut. There, on the table, were two bags, neatly labelled in Orel's careful scribe-hand, "To Huard, with love," and "To Prosper, with love." Huard opened his own bag, inspected it, and sighed before pouring its contents into Prosper's bag. Prosper caught a glimpse of the sweets within. 

"Some disciplines," said the priest mournfully, "require greater sacrifice than others." He turned aside, poured wine into two cups, then turned back to Prosper, who was still staring down at the lettering on the bag, touching the word "love." 

"Did you hear what I said?" Huard asked. 

Without looking up, Prosper replied, "Quite. Quiet. Quench. Quiescent. Does that answer your question?" Then, as Huard laughed and handed him his cup, Prosper said, "I was listening, but your words touched off a thought in my mind. I was trying to decide whether it was a blessing or a tragedy that I became a priest." 

Huard, turning aside to check the sacred instruments that had been polished overnight, said, "And what have you decided?" 

"It is difficult to tell. If I had become a priest later in my life, after I had been trained in the discipline as you have been training me, would I have had the strength to control my native demon? One thing I do know: my decision to become a priest at thirteen destroyed that path as a vocation for me. I was too young, too undisciplined, sought out too little spiritual oversight in my formative years. Under those conditions, my demon grew too strong, and though I believe that I now have control enough over it to lead the life of a man of temporal affairs, I do not believe that it would ever be wise for me to have spiritual supervision over anyone again." 

Huard opened the purification lamp, cleaned out the ashes from the previous fire, and touched the prayer-light that had been flickering in his hut for six months. "That is reason enough for you to regret having become a priest. Why do you think you may have been blessed by your life's work?" 

"Because, though it was not the right vocation for me, somehow, through the God's blessing, I found through it the path to my true vocation. All those years I spent teaching priest-pupils, thinking of teaching as no more than a means to the higher end of supervising the spiritual lives of priests in making, were years when I developed my native gift – a gift which, if I had not become a priest, I might never have recognized. It is odd," he reflected, looking over at Huard, who was lifting the top half of the purification lamp. "It now seems to me that all the happenings I underwent during those years – even the terrible destruction I caused upon the bodies and spirits of those who were under my care – were only preparations for this moment when I would begin my true service to the God." 

"Even so," said Huard, turning again toward the shelf of sacred objects, "it must have been a difficult decision for you to make." 

"It was," said Prosper, his eye following the path of the tiny, shining prayer-light as Huard used it to light the lamp. "That was why your use of the word 'sacrifice' triggered this thought. I would not have believed, three months ago, that I would have the strength to make such a decision – to give up the work to which I have devoted forty-four years and in which I have found my deepest devotion to the God. Yet oddly enough, that seems part of the preparation. It is necessary to make that sacrifice so that—" 

He stopped abruptly, having realized what Huard was doing. The priest, carefully lowering the lid of the purification lamp, said without looking his way, "Do you remember what you told me on the day that you advised me to give up sweets for the remainder of my life?" 

"Quite well," Prosper said, his eye on the purification lamp, which was now sending out the God-mask in the form of mask-shaped lights glowing upon the chamber walls. "I told it to all of my pupils, at some point in their training. 'The brightest purification of all is not fire, but a willing sacrifice.'" Without awaiting the command, he knelt and silenced his mind. 

Huard stepping forward with the lamp, held it briefly above his former teacher, and then brought the lamp down before Prosper's face so that the light shown into Prosper's eyes. The priest twirled the chain, causing the light to spin dizzily about. As he slowly encircled the lamp around Prosper, he said, "With the God's light, I purify this man of any remaining demons, beyond that which afflict all God-loving men. With this light I signify that this man is once more the God's beloved and may enter into the God's presence. Yet it is not I who purifies this man, but the man himself, for only the demon-filled man has the power to drive out his own demons." The formal words complete, Huard withdrew the lamp and waited. 

Prosper, his mind so still that he did not notice the pain shooting through his legs as he knelt upon the ground, lifted his head to look at the priest. If Huard had expected to hear him ask questions about why his sentence of exile had been lifted early, he was disappointed, for Prosper's mind was not on the purification he had undergone. His spirit's vision was focussed on more important matters. 

"The sacrifice," he said. "Did it work?" 

Huard smiled as he set the lamp aside. "I wondered when you would ask. I didn't tell you before, because it would not have assisted in your discipline, but I am afraid that I am one of the rare boys who thrived under the overly harsh discipline you placed upon your priest-pupils. If you had not advised me to sacrifice my love of sweets to the God, I fear that I would never have gained the discipline necessary to become a priest." 

He reached down, helping Prosper to his feet as a teacher helps his pupil. "A debt repaid," he said. "Thank you for offering me the opportunity to give back to you what you gave to me." 

o—o—o

To Huard: 

I am enclosing this short note within my longer letter concerning Prosper's exile. You may wish to read the longer letter to Prosper, so that he can know the nature of my concern for his spirit. I would ask that you keep the contents of this shorter note private, as though you had received it under the lock of confession. 

I have advised the High Priest, and he agrees with me on this matter, that Prosper should not be permitted to re-enter the priesthood. His demonic acts have occurred over too long a period and are too grave to allow for that. I had planned to tell Prosper of the High Priest's decision before he left for his exile, so that he would hold no false hopes in the coming year, but it occurs to me that this may be an occasion when the "brightest purification" could be put to use. (You will know what I mean, having been taught by Prosper.) If this occurs and is effective in making Prosper no more demon-filled than the average man, then you have the High Priest's permission to end the exile early. 

But of course such a sacrifice would need to be given willingly, without compulsion. That is my second reason for sending Prosper to you. I know your tact; I know that you can subtly offer Prosper the opportunity to make his sacrifice without in any way coercing him to do so. 

I hope you share my belief that this deception is in no way demonic. Rather, I believe, you and I will thus be serving as tools for the God who guides us to the path that is right for us, in ways that can never be knowable. 

In trust of that Mystery which can never be fully named, 

Martin

**Author's Note:**

>  _Beta reader:_ [K. M. Frontain](https://kmfrontain.wordpress.com/about/).
> 
> [Publication history](http://duskpeterson.com/cvhep.htm#mystery).
> 
> This story was originally published at [duskpeterson.com](http://duskpeterson.com). The story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Copyright © 2002, 2011, 2012, 2020 Dusk Peterson. Permission is granted for fan fiction or fan art inspired by this story. Please credit Dusk Peterson and duskpeterson.com for the original story.


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